The Misfits
by davidnm2007
Summary: Alastar, Nasty and Patreus are training to be Space Marines - or trying to, anyway. Ever get bored of Chapter-zombie, personality-free, lemming-like marines? This is my attempt to avoid those tedious stereotypes.
1. Chapter 1 Selected

Alaster Karo stared at the Space Marine, suspecting this was a mistake.

Alaster was stood on the polished floor of the gymnasium. Around him, people sat and watched on the benches at the back. The room was quiet, tense with indrawn breaths and eyes trained on the two figures stood on the floor. None of the spectators wanted to miss any detail of this scene. Nothing like this had happened in years. Behind the benches, sunbeams slanted in through the high windows. Dust motes glimmered in the lemon-tinted light of the Octalian afternoon.

Quite clearly, Alaster heard someone say, 'Is the kid mad?' Someone else shushed them. There was a faint thud and a rustle as some item was dropped on the back row.

'Are you sure?' asked the Space Marine.

Alaster looked up at the warrior. The marine was dressed in the blue-black and grey-trimmed armour of the Storm Ravens. He towered over the nervous teenager. In a weird, analytical flash, Alaster noted that you only got a true sense of the scale of marines until you saw one from close up. It was all well and good reading that they usually top seven feet and all the rest of it, but words on a page just didn't have the same impact. To make eye contact – he hoped – with the red-tinted lenses in the marine's helmet, Alaster's neck was craned. It wasn't comfortable.

Not trusting himself to speak again, Alaster merely nodded.

The marine turned to one side. He was looking at the party stood at the far end of the hall; two more marines, the school principal and several miscellaneous hangers-on. 'With your permission, Brother-Captain,' the marine said, 'I think it would be fair to even the odds a little.'

The captain was overseeing the Selection Games today. He had arrived with his escort of Astartes warriors just over two hours ago. The Selection was already underway and had been for several days. There were a lot of candidates to get through and the first stages were simple. The medicals and the races and the team games hardly merited Chapter attention, after all. Even at this stage, surprises were rare. The Marines' brief visit was just a formality, a polite gesture toward the citizens of Delta Octalis.

But then someone had done something unexpected.

Alaster swallowed. That someone had been him and he could hardly believe what he'd just done. He looked up at the enormous Space Marine. Alaster wondered what had possessed him – this really was madness!

'War is rarely fair, Brother Thaddeus,' the captain remarked. Every eye in the room focused on the Storm Raven commander. His presence was imposing; even just those few words had the audience riveted. The captain – the only Space Marine not wearing his helmet – looked at Alaster. Even from this distance, Alaster knew he was being scrutinised closely. The captain, Alaster noticed, had a wide scar running down his face. It just missed his left eye. 'Still, it's been years since anyone's used the Right.'

The so-called 'Right', of course, was the right of a selectee to challenge a marine to single combat. It was rarely invoked; when Alaster had announced his intention, many people in the room had no idea what he was doing.

The captain nodded to himself. 'I suppose that justifies throwing a bone. Toss him your knife, Brother.'

'Yes my Lord.' The marine – Thaddeus - reached down to his belt and unsheathed his combat knife. Alaster stared at it – it was the longest 'knife' he had ever seen. To anyone normal, it would be more of a shortsword. It had wicked serrations on its blade and an ugly, shiny and curved tip. Alaster dreaded to think what that would do to flesh.

The Storm Raven held it up so the audience could see it. The sunlight flashed along the blade. There was an audible in-drawing of breath.

The marine tossed it, almost negligently, toward Alaster. Alaster saw it spin toward him, turning end over end in the afternoon sunlight. It landed with a clatter at his feet, skidding almost to his boot. Carefully, gingerly, Alaster picked it up, gripping the hilt. He was amazed that his hand wasn't shaking – he could feel the building fear in the pit of his stomach. What had he been thinking?

Delta Octalis was the homeworld of the Storm Ravens Chapter. Alaster had known this almost from birth, like any other citizen of Octalis. He had been aware that after his fifteenth birthday he would be tested, like everyone else. The Selection was important. It decided everything – what jobs you could do, how many children you were allowed, how many votes you'd have. For a small number of male selectees, it would also choose them for training as Storm Ravens. That was its real purpose, of course, for all that the four billion other Octalians had co-opted the Selection for their own purposes.

Alaster had always known he would end up in this room one day. He had never imagined it would be like this. He clutched the knife before him, as if it were a shield.

Brother Thaddeus regarded Alaster again. 'Are you ready?'

Alaster nodded slowly, tensing. 'Whenever you are.'

Thaddeus sprang at him. The crowd gasped. Alaster ducked to the side.

The marine would have taken him there and then, but Alaster had been subconsciously readying himself for a leap. His muscles had begun unwinding even before Thaddeus began moving. Even then, it was close.

Thaddeus spun round. His fist slammed the air. Alaster felt the wind of its passage stir his hair. He had jerked his head, not an instant too soon-

The marine's other hand grabbed his shirt. Alaster's feet left the floor. His eyes locked onto the marine's right shoulder pad, seeing the insignia of the lightning-bearing black raven, wings outstretched against the blue background. His eyes tracked past the grey trim bordering the shoulder pad. He noticed it lift up and back, as the fist below it bunched.

'You can concede,' he heard Thaddeus growl.

An idea formed in Alaster's head. He had to distract the marine – just for a moment. He stared straight into the malevolent red eye-lenses, above the angry growl of helmet's rebreather. Alaster smiled, slowly and deliberately.

'Don't worry,' he said loudly, 'if you want to back out, that's fine. If it's too much for you…'

The marine roared something at him, angered by Alaster's words. Alaster didn't listen. While the marine bellowed, he swung his feet up and slammed them into the marine's breastplate.

Startled, the marine twitched – just a little.

In one fluid movement, Alaster jerked the combat knife up, tearing through the taught fabric of the shirt collar. It ripped loudly.

Suddenly free, he dropped to the ground. The crowd cheered and cried out and shouted in surprise and amazement.

Alaster hit the floor. He grunted as his hip collided with the surface. That hurt! He quickly rolled to one side and jumped to his feet. He was now twelve feet away from the Space Marine. Thaddeus was still holding the torn remains of the shirt. Alaster's bare chest rose and fell hard as he gasped for breath. His hip hurt and his legs ached from all the sudden moves.

Thaddeus dropped the torn rag to the ground. He kicked it away. 'The runt has some fight in him,' the Raven remarked. 'Who would have known?'

Some people in the audience laughed; Alaster felt his ears burning.

Thaddeus feinted; Alaster leapt backward. He heard the Space Marine laugh – it was not a welcome sound. For a moment, nothing happened, then the marine feinted toward Alaster. Alaster hesitated – and Thadeus broke into a run.

Acting on instinct, Alaster dived toward him. Hitting the ground, he rolled below the marine's fist. A leg swung out to kick at him. The sole of the boot actually clipped Alaster's nose. It hurt.

Alaster came to his feet, facing Thaddeus. With dismay, he realised his manoeuvre had only switched their former positions – nothing else. He was sore from his exertions, his hip ached and he was breathing hard. The Space Marine, meanwhile, looked as frightening and unruffled as ever. Alaster knew he couldn't keep this up much longer.

The marine closed his fist; Alaster noted the gauntlet had studs along the back of the hand. Built-in knuckledusters. A punch from that was going to hurt.

Alaster swallowed. He risked a quick glance at the clock on the wall. One minute – they'd been sparing barely two minutes. Maybe it was time to call it in. The rules of the Right were simple – for every thirty seconds you stayed in play, you advanced a level on the Selection. Beforehand, Alaster had been rated at a level two – as long as he didn't concede, this minute could take him to a level six. Another thirty seconds and he could rate a seven. His parents were both fives; he knew that getting to seven would make a real difference to the rest of his life. Even if it meant getting his lights punched out, it would be worth it.

His eyes gravitated back to Thaddeus's fist. The marine was about to strike, he could see it. Something about Thaddeus's manner suggested this time it was serious. Before, that had just been play. Let the daft kid have his moment in the sun. But that manoeuvre with the shirt – that had made the marine look stupid. He seemed angry now – no more hands off. Alaster realised he was about to get a kicking.

Everything contracted down to that fist. Alaster forgot all about levels and jobs and birth-rights; now it was all just surviving the next few moments.

To buy himself time, he edged backwards. He heard the marine laugh and bark something about running away, but he didn't listen. Alaster realised he needed a plan.

The floor. A slight shine, to his left. He didn't look at it directly, didn't dare to – but he knew that bit of it. He'd slipped up there only last week, during games. It was too smooth, too polished.

A glimmer of an idea entered Alaster's head. He stepped backwards and to the left, careful not to look down. Best not to draw attention to the floor.

'Still running, runt?' Thaddeus asked, in a derisory tone.

'Why, am I going too fast for you?' Alaster sneered as best he could. It worked – the marine visibly twitched. 'Catch me if you can, slow-coach!'

Thaddeus dived forwards, feet crashing into the floor. Then he hit the smooth patch – one foot shot out from under him. The Raven skidded and fell to the floor. He recovered almost instantly, rolling toward Alaster and leaping to his feet. His fist came up in one smooth movement-

In an instant of panic, Alaster struck out wildly, to try and block it.

As his hand moved, he realised he was still holding the knife. The marine's fist and the knife converged. There was an almighty thump, jarring Alaster's hand, as the knife-tip and the power-gauntlet collided. With a painful screech the knife skittered over the ceramite.

A sudden urge made Alaster push. Suddenly, he felt the knife shift. It slid into a narrow gap between two plates in the gauntlet. He felt a crunch as something gave way beneath the point. From the Space Marine's wrist, red blood spurted out.

Startled, Alaster leapt back. The knife flew away, wrenched from his hand. He staggered, lost his balance and fell over. He hit the floor, breath knocked out of him. As he lay there, winded, he awaited the thunderous blow that would make everything go away.

It didn't arrive.

Dazed, Alaster looked up. Thadeus was examining his wrist, and the thin sputter of blood leaking from the small wound. The Raven massaged his damaged wrist; even as Alaster watched, the flow staunched.

Nonetheless, the Storm Raven looked up. To Alaster's disbelief, the mighty Space Marine bowed to him. Thaddeus turned and addressed the captain.

'My Lord, the selectee has first blood. As are the rules, I concede.'

He stepped back. The crowd exploded with noise.


	2. Chapter 2 Recruits

Alaster was stood in the principal's office. The staff had hustled him off here, moments after his improbable victory. Principal Shroder was there, pacing backwards and forwards and rubbing his hands, his eyes and thin hair wild. Sunlight streamed through the big window behind them. The wood-panelled walls were decorated with framed awards and certificates, tokens of Shroder's many years as a successful mid-level bureaucrat.

'How could you? Of all the stupid, stupid, stupid things to do – do you know how much trouble we'll be in now?' The school principal barely even looked at Alaster as he paced up and down. His brogues hissed on the fine rug before his desk, pulling at the fabric. Wrinkles spread like waves on a pond. Shroder's foot caught on one of them; with a sudden oath, he slipped.

Alaster dived forward and just caught his hand, pulling the man back to his feet.

'Get your hands off me, damn you!' Alaster flinched as the principal swore. The man stomped over to a cabinet on the opposite side of the room. He opened it and pulled out a decanter, tugging its top off. Liquor tinkled onto crystal as he poured himself a glass of some rich, green beverage. Alaster could smell the alcohol. Shroder gulped it down in one swallow. He whirled and glared at the misfortunate student. 'Do you know what you've done? Do you have any idea? You just injured a Space Marine. You hurt a Space Marine! I have no idea what they'll do now!'

Alaster swallowed. 'It – it didn't look that bad, sir'

'That bad? _That bad?_' Shroder almost choked. His face was red with apoplexy.

There were footsteps from the hallway. Someone rapped on the door; it echoed loudly.

It was Shroder's secretary. 'Mr Principal, sir, uh-'

'What, damn you?' the principal shouted.

'There are, uh, visitors, sir, and I don't think they should be kept-'

The door banged open. Alaster caught a glimpse of Shroder's secretary, standing to one side and wringing her hands.

An instant later, the captain strode in.

His ceramite boots _clack_ed on the tiled floor. Alaster couldn't help but notice the power sword hung from a ring on the marine's belt and the plasma pistol he was holding in the other hand. Alaster let his eyes track up, to the captain's face.

To Alaster's surprise, the marine looked calm.

This was lost on Shroder, who was quaking. 'My lord, my, uh sincerest apologies, I'm sure we can, uh-'

The captain looked baffled. 'Apologies? Whatever for – oh, wait, I see.' He scanned the wall, taking in the certificates. 'This school – it's for the children of Administratum employees, yes? Low- to mid-ranking bureaucrats and their like? Fairly quiet place, not a lot ever happens?'

Wordlessly, the principal nodded. His eyes shone with fear.

A knowing light entered the captain's eyes. 'Then you probably aren't too familiar with the Right, I suspect.'

The principal frowned. 'Every thirty seconds takes you up a level. Have I missed anything?'

'There's an extra bit. If you actually injure a marine, that's an automatic victory. Straight to level ten. That's what your pupil over there managed.'

The principal blinked. With sudden hope, he said, 'So – you're not angry?'

The captain looked amused. 'No. Actually, we're pleased.'

'And Brother, uh, Thaddeus?'

'He'll be all right. Couple of hours and that wrist will be good as new.'

The principal looked astonished. With a tentative voice, he said, 'He did bleed.'

'Yes. People tend to when you poke holes in them. It wasn't much, though.'

'Then, uh, everything's okay?'

'As far as we're concerned, yes. The objective is to get recruits.' The captain looked meaningfully at Alaster.

The principal blinked. He drew himself up straighter and the misery faded from his eyes. 'Well, that makes for a good result today, then.'

The captain nodded. 'I imagine the local press will be all over you when they find out – still, it should be good news for your school.'

Shroder was beaming. The twitch in his eyebrow relaxed as his relief overwhelmed him. He began to babble. On automatic, he began spewing the school's marketing spiel. 'Well, we do try and run a tight ship here. Last year we didn't have a single level one result and only three level twos. Sixty percent of our students had level four or higher, and we even had a nine last year. I suppose we've topped that this year – though it will be interesting to see what the distribution is like. If we can move a few percent more into the fours and up – well, parents do so like lots of grandchildren, you know. Quite the status symbol, for some. Of course we put a lot of work into this, and it's a credit to our staff…'

'Yes, no doubt you do. If you wouldn't mind, Mr Shroder, I'd like to have a word with your pupil here – in private, if that would be okay.' Something in the captain's tone made it clear it should be okay.

'Yes, of course, heavens yes! I'll just nip out and have a chat with my secretary. I've needed to speak to the silly girl for a while. If you need anything, just shout!'

'Thank you, that's quite adequate.' The captain and Alaster watched the principal retreat out of his own office. His feet slapped on the floor in the corridor. The sound diminished as he walked away.

The door clicked shut behind him. The room was quiet – the only sounds came from some birds outside and the distant hum of traffic.

Alaster looked up at the captain. He noticed the trim on the marine's shoulder pads was silver rather then grey – he vaguely recalled reading that was a rank indicator. The captain was armed. Almost casually, he gripped a bolt pistol in one hand. The other was gripping the haft of a savage-looking axe, hung through a loop on his belt.

The captain noticed where Alaster was looking. 'Quite a piece, isn't it?' he said proudly. 'I took it off an orkish champion, at Filois.'

Alaster had never heard of Filois, or anything that may have happened there.

Swallowing, Alaster came to a decision. 'Sir, there's something I'd better say.' Try as he might, a nervous quaver worked its way in. Resolutely, he met the man's eyes.

The captain lifted an eyebrow. 'Go on.'

'In the test. I cheated.' The words tumbled out in a panicky rush.

The captain looked surprised and sceptical. 'How did you manage that?'

Thinking on what he had done, Alaster was starting to feel ashamed of himself. All of that trickery, just to avoid a punch in the face! Frankly, he could see now, it was a punch he entirely deserved. Putting himself in such a position had been an act of gross stupidity – and he'd conflated that stupidity by actually hurting the Space Marine!

'There's a slippery bit on the gym floor. I made the – uh, I tricked Brother Thaddeus into running over it, so he slipped.'

The captain looked even more surprised. 'And Thaddeus fell for that, did he?' Alaster hesitated, unsure if the question was rhetorical. The captain continued without pause, 'Obviously he did. You got the knife in. How interesting.'

'It was an unfair thing to do, and I apologise.' The words felt hollow as they left Alaster's mouth. Cravenly, he admitted to himself that he was apologising to avoid punishment, not because he really felt sorry.

In the distance, a truck rumbled past. A bird twittered and another cheeped in reply.

The captain's eyes snapped back into focus on Alaster. 'Don't apologise,' he snapped. 'You have nothing to apologise for. Thaddeus is a veteran Storm Raven – he shouldn't have fallen for a simple trick like that.'

Alaster blinked, mouth open. The captain wasn't angry with him!

The marine continued, 'As I said earlier, war is rarely fair. Good strategic awareness is not cheating – on the battlefield, it's a survival skill. A Space Marine's basic objective is to put his foe down before his foe puts him down – and that's what you did.' Almost to himself, the captain added, 'I'm going to have words with Thaddeus – and Sergeant Cayas. It seems things have got slack in his squad.'

Alaster shut his mouth and straightened up. 'Then – what happens next?'

The captain shrugged. 'I ask you a question. It's a simple enough one. Either way you answer, we both walk out of this room. One answer, your life goes on as normal – or as normal as you can be at level ten.'

Alaster blinked. 'That's possible?'

The captain nodded. 'You know level ten has three subdivisions – Marine, Aspirant and Normal. Not every male tenner chooses Astartes training. You can decline.'

Alaster blinked again. 'Can we? I'd always thought selection was automatic.'

'Theoretically,' the captain agreed, 'but marine training is tough. Being a Space Marine is even tougher, usually. We can't do much with someone who isn't truly committed. The Emperor doesn't call just anyone to the Astartes – and that said, there's no shame in being in your true place.'

Alaster considered it. Level ten … everyone on Octalis knew the Law. As a tenth-level citizen, he'd be allowed as many children as he wanted. He could live wherever he wanted. He could go for any job he wanted. His vote would have ten times the weighting of a first-level citizen. There were attractions to it.

'What goes on such peoples' files?'

The captain spread his hands. 'Not a lot – just a small addendum, saying something came up at the last minute. It doesn't make any material difference.'

Alaster looked at the certificates on the principal's wall. Parchment after parchment, showing another bureaucratic tick here or another administrative box filled there. A life filled with chasing bits of paper. All that time and effort – and all the principal had to show for it were these sad little documents. Did any of them suggest any real achievement?

He imagined himself in forty years' time, stood in an office just like this. An office whose walls were covered with picture frames, as if he was trying to hide the failure. An office where every day he would look out the window, hear the birds sing, and wonder what might have been.

The captain was looking at him again, face inscrutable. 'So, Alaster Karo, do you want to serve the Emperor as a Space Marine?'

Alaster suddenly relaxed. As he stared at one of the framed certificates, he realised the decision was made.

'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I do.'

*

'Emperor help us all – is this the best they could do?'

Alaster was stood amongst a ragged line of equally ragged aspirants, in the hot mid-afternoon sunshine. It was somewhere a long way from the school. He had been driven from the campus, immediately, in a Rhino no less, to the municipal airport. There, in front of dozens of gawping onlookers, he had boarded a Thunderhawk along with the captain and his marines; that was the last Alaster had seen of them. He was sent below, where he had joined the other aspirants from his part of the continent. They had been sat in the cargo hold for several hours. It had been cold, uncomfortable and awkward. The door had remained shut – locked – throughout and there had been no facilities of any kind. On arrival, they had been unloaded with swift and merciless efficiency. They had been allowed a brief trip to an outside latrine – literally just a trench in the ground – to relieve themselves before being loaded into another Rhino.

The Rhino had then driven for the better part of two hours, before unloading them in the middle of nowhere. To judge from the position of the sun, the heat and the humidity, Alaster thought it might be subtropical.

'Look at you all – call that a line?'

Alaster and the five others in the Rhino had been greeted by about sixty other aspirants – it seemed their delivery was the last for the day. In addition to the aspirants, they had also found Sergeant Kodos waiting for them.

'You – yes, you with the dumb mustache! You're more then a foot away from the man next to you! Get back there.' Kodos was near the other end of the line. Alaster debated taking a glance to see whom he was insulting but decided not to risk it.

Alaster glanced around. The aspirants were stood in a clearing in some dense woodland. The trees were draped with vines and creepers. Around the edges of the clearing were bushes, some of them with exotic flowers in bloom. Unfamiliar birds trilled in the woods and Alaster could hear rustling from the undergrowth. Over the trees in front of him, he could see the peaks of mountains, rising in the distance. To his left, the clearing opened out, revealing a stream. Beyond the stream was a grassy space; the land dropped off sharply after that. Beyond the edge, Alaster was looking out over a river valley. He realised they were at an altitude.

He sniffed the air; it was rich with exotic pollens.

'Isn't it amazing?' a voice said quietly from next to him.

Alaster wasn't sure if he was being addressed or not, but he looked round anyway. Next to him was stood another freckled fifteen-year-old. This one had blue eyes and a vividly auburn mop of hair. He also had his mouth open and a look of awe on his face.

'Amazing? I just feel sweaty,' Alaster said quietly.

The boy looked shocked. 'That's very cynical! I'm privileged just to be here!'

'What's your name?' Alaster asked.

'Brother Patreus,' the boy said.

Alaster blinked. 'Isn't that a bit … premature?'

Patreus snorted. 'I'm from the monastery - Saint Thaulins. You know, where they send the orphans. So I'm a brother there – force of habit.'

'Oh, I see. I'm Alaster Karo – from, uh, Colvin Academy.' He gave the name of his school – from the sounds of it, talking about families might confuse Patreus.

'Hey, I know that place!' It was the aspirant in line beyond Patreus. Alaster looked at him. He was tall – easily six inches bigger than Alaster. He was ugly, too, with a vicious scar running down his face. Whatever had done it had just missed his left eye. His nose had been broken at some point. Glancing down, Alaster noticed calluses on his hands. He was muscular and carried himself like he knew it. The aspirant added, 'That's where they send the Adminny-poncy kids. Silver-spoon skakkers, that sort. My skak-head lawyer went there. He said so – seemed to think I'd be impressed.'

Alaster frowned. 'Your lawyer?'

'Yeah, the idiot the court gave me. It's his fault I'm here. Skakker couldn't get me off, so he called in this lot.' He jerked a thumb at Kodos's back; Patreus gasped at the visible disrespect. 'Said I should be grateful, that it'd "make an honest man of me". Skakker.'

Alaster hesitated, then said, 'What couldn't he get you off from?'

'The trial, you idiot. It was just self-defence – it should have been easy. But the skakking lawyer mucked it up.'

'What was "just self-defence"?'

'The skakkers I killed,' the foul-mouthed aspirant shrugged.

A shadow fell over Alaster. He glanced back, to be confronted by the eagle on Kodos's breastplate. The two heads seemed to by eyeing him accusatorily.

'I take it,' the sergeant remarked acidly, 'that you three didn't hear a word of that?'

With a sinking feeling, Alaster realised that the clearing had fallen quiet. All of the other aspirants were staring at them.

'Uh, I, uh, no, sir.' Alaster felt he had to say something.

'What did you just call me?' Kodos, Alaster noted, was also ugly. He had three parallel scars running across one cheek and a long one running slant-wise across his forehead. A patch of smooth and shiny skin below it suggested a recently-healed burn. One of his eyes was a prosthetic – the cybernetic replacement glittered a cold silver, with an LED-red pupil.

His other eye, Alaster noted, was hazel.

'I called you sir, sir,' Alaster said, trying not to swallow.

'Well don't,' Kodos snapped. 'I have to work for a living. If you call me anything to my face, you call me 'Sergeant', or maybe 'Sergeant Kodos' if you think I'll get confused. You call officers 'sir' and you salute them as well.'

'I – thank you, Sergeant. I'll remember that.'

'See that you do.' For a moment, just for one golden instant, Alaster thought they might have gotten away with it. Then the sergeant said, 'Since you three spend so much time talking, you're in a section together. That's your basic training unit, you know. And since your section was busy chatting while the rest of us were planning our camp, you can go and fetch the tents.' Kodos pointed beyond the stream. 'They're stored half a klick that way. You've got forty minutes – better get moving.'

The tents turned out to be in a prefabricated storehouse, exactly where Kodos said they would be. Alaster stood inside the open door, next to the big pile of awnings. He ran the beige canvas of one tent between his fingers. To his left was a mound of groundsheets, and beyond that a mound of poles and connectors.

The scarred aspirant – who had actually introduced himself as 'Nasty' – stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. Daylight shone in behind him, outlining him against the glare. 'What are we supposed to do with this skakking junk?'

Patreus was stood closer to Alaster. He seemed offended by Nasty's attitude. 'We bring it back, of course! Like we were told to.'

'Like we were told to. So if Kodos throws a stick and says fetch, do you go woof-woof?' Nasty scanned the storeroom with a sneer. 'What a load of junk.'

Alaster looked around with a sinking feeling. 'I'm not sure how we're going to get all of this back. There's too much to carry.'

'I don't think the sergeant will like that,' Patreus said.

Alaster suspected Patreus might be right. However, he said, 'We'd better get a move-on. Let's just carry what we can.'

Patreus looked unsure but nodded. Nasty just snorted and stood there, not offering to help as the other two gathered up what they could.

Alaster and Patreus reached the camp shortly after, with Nasty in tow. They were carrying enough materials for maybe four tents. Even then they had their hands full, awkwardly gripping poles and sheets and pegs. They just managed to get past the stream without dropping anything. As he stepped away from it, Alaster slipped, stumbling. His load went flying to the ground, in front of him. 'Skak!' he swore in frustration.

Kodos was stood at the other end of the clearing, but the oath apparently caught his attention. By the time Alaster had managed to feebly grab a few items, he was stood before them, glaring.

'Cadets, what do you call this?' The lid above Kodos' bionic eye was twitching. Alaster had a brief urge to be flippant but he resisted. 'I sent you to fetch the tents – unless I'm mistaken, there aren't even five there.'

Hesitantly, Patreus said, 'We brought the ones we could carry, Sergeant.'

'You brought the ones you could carry. What about the rest? It rains here at night, you know. Very often. And heavily. Do you think your fellow aspirants over there will thank you for a wet night?'

Alaster was about to say something when Kodos' gaze switched to the side. 'Cadet,' Kodos said to Nasty, 'do you think something is funny about this?'

'My name,' Nasty said, 'is Nasty.' There was menace in his voice.

Alaster didn't want to look. He tried not to groan. This did not sound good.

'Oh is it now,' Kodos remarked sarcastically. 'And tell me, Cadet, on what grounds are you 'Nasty'?'

The scarred aspirant hesitated a moment before replying. Then he looked Kodos in the eye, folding his arms across his chest. 'I'm a murderer,' he said. 'I got with a gang when I was six. I got this-' he pointed at the scar on his face '-nicking a skakker's wallet. And I got sent here cos I killed fourteen men.'

Fourteen? Alaster boggled at the number. Patreus actually gasped, then began a mumbled prayer to the Emperor. He was praying for Nasty's soul – privately, Alaster thought it might be a bit late for that.

Kodos looked contemptuous. 'Fourteen, you say? And that makes you nasty, does it?'

Nasty seemed confused. 'Uh, yeah, I'd say so.'

'I don't,' Kodos said. 'I'd say it makes you a skakking little lowlife with an attitude problem. You think you're nasty?' He pulled a gun from the holster on his waist. Alaster thought it might be a plasma pistol, from the glowing light coming from the vents on its side. Kodos shoved the pistol into Nasty's startled face. 'Well, 'Nasty', do you know how many men I've killed with this gun? Frankly, I don't either – I stopped counting at two hundred.' Kodos holstered the pistol. 'And do you know what as well, 'Nasty'? Just two months ago, I had to put a heretic down. You know what I did? No? Well, I'll tell you. I stomped on his chest with this boot right here.' Kodos pointed to his right foot. 'Crushed his ribcage in one go – he spewed blood, more blood than you've ever seen. You ever do anything like that? I thought not. He and those two hundred plus are just the humans – I don't bother noting traitors or xeno filth.

'So you see, 'Nasty', you're not. You're a damned fool with a mouth as big as the sea, but you're not 'nasty'. You're barely even mildly unpleasant. So, Cadet, unless you want to find out just how mean I can be, I suggest you shut your skakking mouth.'

Alaster hazarded a glance at Nasty. The aspirant had blanched!

'Now as for the rest of you,' and Kodos turned his gaze back to Patreus and Alaster, 'you're going back to the storehouse and you're getting the rest of the tents. You'll bring them back here – all of them – or you're on bread and water for a fortnight. I'm not taking any further excuses. Now move your lame backsides!'

The three went back to the storehouse. This time, they didn't talk on the way. When they got to the storehouse, somewhat to Alaster's surprise, they worked out a way to get the tents back. They took two of the ground sheets. They rolled most of the bits up in one of them, and the remainder in the second. Alaster and Nasty took the heaviest bundle between them, while Patreus took the remaining one in both arms. This time, Nasty helped without complaint. He walked in front of Alaster, with the long poles in the bundle rested on his shoulder. Alaster carried his end the same way.

It was heavy going but they made it back to the camp in time. Alaster helped Patreus and Nasty sort the tent parts into fresh groups, one for each tent. They worked with quiet efficiency.

Kodos glanced at what they'd done, then turned to the rest of the aspirants. 'Right, gather round, you runts. I said gather round! You at the back, on the left – at least act like you're paying attention!'

A ragged semi-circle of aspirants formed, centred on the sergeant.

'All right,' Kodos sighed. 'It looks like I'm going to have to lay down some ground rules. I can't believe I'm having to say this, either – most recruits aren't this stupid!

'Right. As of today, you are all aspirants to the Storm Ravens Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. From your faces, I doubt any of you realise just what an honour that is.

'I am Master Sergeant Ivan Kodos, and I'm in charge of training you. Frankly, I don't see how I'm going to. You lot look the least like any potential Ravens I've ever seen. It's just as well no-one else from the Chapter is here now – if they'd seen that farce with the tents, they'd be laughing. If any of you have a Storm Raven in there somewhere, he's buried pretty deep. The Emperor only knows how such a bunch of layabouts got Selected.

'Anyway, I said you're aspirants. Technically, your rank is Cadet. That's the bottom of the pile, by the way. I'll just give you a hint or two … if anything in power armour tells you to do something, you skakking well do it. And not only that, you should be grateful to help a Marine! If a Chapter serf gives you an order, you take it – yes, you rank below them, too. Our serfs are valuable, skilled labourers. Frankly, each of them is worth ten of you skakking aspies. And they know it – they've been in training, too, so they know what it's like. And I suspect our serfs all do a better job than you will, too.

'The next fourteen days are your cooling-off period. If you admit that you're not up to this, come and tell me. I'll arrange to get you sent off back home. I'll be quite happy to – each of you that goes is one less untrainable aspie for me to worry about.'

'Why fourteen days, Sergeant?' someone asked.

Kodos glared. 'Don't interrupt me – I'm not finished! But since you asked … after that, you'll know too much about the Chapter. We can't take any risks of you falling into the wrong hands.'

'But surely we're safe here, Sergeant?' someone else asked.

Kodos rolled both his eyes. 'Safe – if you want safety, then being a Storm Raven isn't for you.

'Let me let you in on a little secret – there is no true security. Not now. The ancients seemed to have it – Holy Terra's early civilisations weren't disturbed. But that was thousands of years ago. The galaxy hasn't been like that in a long time.'

'But this is a Chapter homeworld,' the previous speaker said.

'Points for observation,' Kodos snarked. 'Yes, it is, and it's mercifully quieter than the rest of the Imperium. But do you know, just last year, two squads from the Second Company were deployed in this very system? No you don't – we kept it off the news. But a cult had sprung up in Vandais. The Moon's second city – as Imperial as they get. And yet a bunch of heretics had taken root. Sure, it was small-time stuff when we hammered them – but it wouldn't have stayed small. They had big plans. One of them was a rogue psyker. He reckoned he could open the moon-colony to the Warp, with enough sacrifices.'

'But why would anyone want to do that?' Alaster spoke without even thinking. Instantly he regretted it as Kodos looked his way.

'Cadet,' the sergeant said in a tired voice, 'doubtless the heretics' motivations made sense to them. Maybe they were offered power. Maybe they wanted to curry favour with some dark force. Maybe it was revenge against life's little injustices. I don't know – and I don't skakking care. It is not our job to ask why – it is our job to purge the unclean and cleanse the sinful. And that is what we do.

'The point I'm making is that we enjoy relative safety here. Relative. And that's all – if we make a mistake, or get slack, even just the once, people will die. That's why we're stuck with you after two weeks. There are people – and things – out there who want what you'll know. For them you'll be a prize. They might even be bold enough to try it on down here. Stranger things have happened. Like you lot getting Selected.

'Your training will equip you to deal with these threats. You'll learn how to look after yourself, eventually. But it'll be rough, particularly at first. Astartes training demands a lot from you – more than many have. You need focus. We're nice, as chapters go. We're not actively out to kill you. Dead men haven't learnt any lessons after all, and frankly that's something some chapters forget. But injury is likely and death a possibility. You won't see many safety nets or dummy grenades on the battlefield, so you won't see many on this training ground, either. I can guarantee we'll lose at least one of you by the end of the month – so think about that before the end of your two weeks.

'Now, we have the tents and you have hands. Your next task is to make camp. I have to go and check in your arrival – I'll be back in forty minutes. I expect to see all those tents up when I get back. Now move!'

Kodos turned and strode off into the woods. Alaster watched his back vanish into the bushes. The cloud of nervous aspirants began to disperse.

'I'm thirsty,' Patreus said suddenly.

Alaster looked around. 'You know, you're right. I need a drink too. It's this heat – and all the exercise.' Alaster realised he had a faint headache – another sign of dehydration.

Patreus nodded. 'You're right – I've been sweating a storm.' He waved away an inquisitive fly. In the foliage beyond, birds cheeped and chirped.

'So where's the water?' asked Nasty.

Alaster looked at the stream. 'I reckon that's it, over there.'

'The stream?' Nasty stared.

'It looks clear and it's running,' Alaster said. 'I don't see any pipes or any vending machines. And I doubt we're here just by coincidence.'

'We're to drink from a stream?' Nasty sounded offended.

'That or dehydrate,' Alaster shrugged. He walked over and squatted by the stream, scooping a handful of water to his mouth. It tasted fresh and it was cold. He blinked. 'Hey, this must be snow-melt! It's freezing!'

Patreus joined him and they quickly drank their fill. Somewhat reluctantly, Nasty joined them and took a few token sips. He sat back. 'You think this is okay?'

'To drink?' Alaster shrugged. 'If it's melt-water from uphill, it won't be carrying tropical diseases, if that's what you're thinking. It's not stagnant and it doesn't look dirty. Yes, I think it's safe enough.'

In the background, the other aspirants were chattering and making noise. Tent poles clonged into each other and sheets rustled. Patreus watched them. It was a scene of complete chaos. 'What are we going to do about this tent?'

'Let me sort that out,' Alaster said. 'I've put these things up before.'

'You're an Adminny brat,' Nasty spat. 'What do you know about tents?'

'Quite a bit, actually. I learnt to put this sort up when I was ten.'

'This sort?'

'Yeah – didn't you recognise the design? Military surplus – ex-Guard, almost certainly. One of the sheets had a regimental patch on it. The Octalian 22nd, I think it was.'

Nasty looked at him, puzzled. The scar on his face was creased by his frown. 'Why would you know anything about that?'

Breezily, Alaster remarked, 'You'd be surprised what you pick up in admin. Now come on – the sooner this is done, the better!'


	3. Chapter 3 Testing, Testing

They got the tent up in all of ten minutes. To Nasty's visible surprise, it turned out Alaster did know what he was doing. They struggled a little with the pegs, in the absence of a hammer, but Alaster grabbed a large rock. Bashing the pegs with that worked well enough. Once they were done, Alaster went over to help the two nearest sections, who weren't getting anywhere with their tents. With the advice of someone who knew how to do it, they eventually the tents up.

Alaster was just about to go and help another section when Kodos returned, with company.

'Okay, what were my orders?'

Half the aspirants jumped as they heard his voice. Alaster turned, startled. He hadn't even heard Kodos's approach. Hard to believe that the man could be so stealthy – and yet there he was, stood halfway down the campsite! Even as Alaster watched, several Space Marines emerged from the woods behind Kodos. They were all carrying boxes and crates of equipment. The crates were large – almost as big as the marines holding them. The warriors hefted them like they weighed nothing. As Alaster watched, they carried the crates over to a clear space near the stream and set to work.

'Is something the matter, Sergeant?' A new voice spoke.

Kodos looked over his shoulder as a new Space Marine stepped out from the trees. This warrior was different from the others Alaster had seen. His armour was blue, except for his right arm, which was the usual Storm Raven blue-black. His left shoulder pad bore a menacing horned skull, although he wore the Chapter crest as normal on his right. Some sort of apparatus was mounted around his helmet, like a peculiar crown. He was carrying a bolt pistol in one hand and the other gripped a peculiar staff – it was taller than the warrior himself, and its top bore a menacing crest. A stylised white skull, mounted over the wings of an aquila; the skull held lightning bolts in its teeth.

Kodos sighed. 'Just this lot, my lord Librarian. They're not the most promising bunch I've ever set eyes on. You can see the state of the camp. Not one of them – hang on, what's this over here?' Kodos's gaze had reached the little cluster of erect tents near Alaster's section.

'Maybe there is hope yet,' the Librarian observed.

'Possibly, sir.' Kodos's tone suggested diplomacy before a senior officer; the look in his eyes was cynical. 'Would you excuse me for a moment?'

'Of course, Sergeant. I will attend to my task in the meantime.' The Librarian walked over to the labouring marines.

Kodos strode over. He stood in front of the little cluster of tents. 'So you lot managed where the rest failed. Own up – which one of you's done tents before?'

Patreus and Nasty said nothing but the other aspirants all pointed at Alaster.

Kodos tilted his head, lifting an eyebrow. 'Cadet Alaster, of the wet-sounding name.'

Alaster blinked, surprised. 'You know my name?' he blurted without thinking.

Kodos rolled his eyes and sighed. 'Of course I know your name. I've read your file. It was sent to me before you got here. But it seems it left a few things out. You're from an Administratum school. A filing-clerk to be. Where did you learn to put up an army tent?'

'Someone at work,' Alaster explained lamely.

Kodos looked – just for an instant – confused. 'At work? You're fifteen, aren't you?'

'It's the school programme. After classes we all do a shift at the local offices. I was in Economic Reports Compilation. One of the staff there was ex-Guard. He took us camping and doing outdoors stuff, once a month.'

'Ex-Guard? You had a veteran in your office?' Kodos looked interested.

'Yes. He said he'd been with the Octalian 16th. Mustered out after Kadis.'

'Octalian 16th and Kadis? He wasn't by any chance called Jasker, was he?'

It was Alaster's turn to blink. 'Uh, yes, yes he was Sergeant.'

'Six foot two? Brown eyes? Beer gut? Scar under his left eye? Likes his food?'

'Yes, that's him.'

To Alaster's astonishment, Kodos laughed. 'By the Emperor! Four-Bellies Jask, working in an office! I'd never've believed that!'

'You – you know him, Sergeant?'

'Know him? I fought with him on the Kadis Campaign. Yeah, you could say I know him. I'd never've pictured old Four-Bellies ending up with the Administratum. Sounds like he's up to his old tricks, with your lot.'

'I'm surprised you know him, Sergeant.'

'What, you're surprised that I know someone who's a soldier? It's not that unlikely, you know.' Kodos snorted. 'I've met a few soldiers, particularly given that I'm one myself. So – these outdoors jaunts of yours. What was Four-Bellies up to?'

'Sir?'

'What did he train you, Cadet?'

'Uh, setting up campsites, fishing, map-reading, tracking, we did a lot of hikes in the woods, that sort of thing. He said the exercise was good for us.' Alaster had enjoyed the outdoors trips. It had been good to get away from the school and that office – good to do something where you could see the results. Schooling and work could be strange that way – you could be busy all the time and see nothing tangible for it. Putting up a tent, however, had obvious consequences and it mattered that you did it right. 'He took us on a couple of longer expeditions. We had to do stuff like set snares and catch lunch, that kind of thing.'

Kodos lifted an eyebrow. 'What a surprise. The bureaucrats' brat may actually have useful skills. Who'd have guessed? Well Cadet, I hope you paid attention to Four-Bellies, because you'll need that experience.

'Since you seem to know one end of a tent peg from the other, I want you and your section to assist your comrades here.' He waved a hand at the other aspirants. 'All of you are on bread and water for the next two days for messing this up – but if you can get the tents set up by the time Librarian Kaylos is ready, I won't make it all week. Now move!'

Nasty and Patreus were some help but not much. Nasty was annoyed that he was sharing everyone else's punishment. 'It's not my fault they're all skakkers,' he eloquently put it. Patreus for his part hadn't taken much of the tent technique in. Alaster tried helping the sections individually, but he realised that would be unmanageable. He noted that Librarian Kaylos's men were erecting several tents and it looked like they were running out of stuff to assemble. So, as the mound of empty crates built, Alaster gathered all the aspirants together, picked a tent and gave them a tutorial. He then sent them away to fix theirs, telling him to come to him if they had further trouble.

Two sections did – one of them had managed to tangle the guy lines into a knot and the other had mistaken the groundsheet for the canopy. Both of those, mercifully, were simple enough to sort out.

The last of the tent pegs was banged into place bare moments before the librarian emerged from one of the other tents.

To Alaster's great relief, Kodos merely nodded when he saw the assembled camp. 'All right, aspies,' he said, standing in a clearing amidst the tents, 'gather round.'

The aspirants gathered in a rough semi-circle. Librarian Kaylos joined Kodos, his great staff planted in the dirt beside him.

'Today's events,' Kodos said, 'are simple enough. You have two rounds of testing ahead of you, but these are the medical variety. We'll be starting the first round shortly. Librarian Kaylos will call you out by section. You'll go over to the tents over there-' he pointed to the complex by the crates '-where you'll be examined. We're looking to check for geneseed compatibility.'

Awed whispers spread through the crowd.

'On the first day, Sergeant?' someone asked.

'Well there's no point keeping you on if we literally can't make an Astartes out of you, is there? If you're just going to have anaphylactic shock or something when it goes in, you're no use to us. The sooner we find that out, the less of our time you waste.'

Nasty poked Alaster in the back. 'What's anaphylactic shock?' he whispered, pronouncing the unfamiliar word with care.

Kodos glared. 'Anaphylactic shock is an extreme allergic reaction. It can kill. It's one of the things that can go wrong with geneseed, Cadet Sandy.'

Alaster turned and stared at Nasty. Nasty looked furious but was also blushing. 'Sandy?' Alaster asked, incredulous.

'That's his real name,' Kodos said. 'Sandy Sheepish. Sorry, _Shepherd_, I should say.'

Nasty looked like he was about to explode. But he merely balled his fists and scowled. He nodded, once and abruptly. An amused titter ran through the audience. Alaster looked back from Nasty's face. No wonder the aspirant had an assumed name!

'You'll be at the tent one section at a time. In the meantime, the rest of us are going to get some exercise. If you were any more lethargic, I think you lot'd be asleep. You need waking up. What we're going to do is simple. Each of you, in turn, is going to take me on. I'm sure you'd like to hit me – here's your chance. I want to see what you can do – if anything. And some of you have no excuse.' Kodos stared at Alaster. The challenge was unmistakable.

Alaster tried not to swallow. Fighting two Space Marines in the course of one day? This was too much. He could feel soreness still in his legs, from his earlier exertions.

'We'll get started in five minutes,' Kodos said. 'First off, Librarian Kaylos would like to call out the first section – when you're done, you come back and join us. I want the rest of you to go to the stream and drink something. Some of you look like you need water.' He looked at Kaylos. 'My lord Librarian?'

'Thank you, Sergeant. We'll take Section Alsine first.' Three aspirants stepped forward. 'Come with me.' They walked off.

Kodos glared at the remaining aspirants. 'You lot are expected back here in five minutes. Now shift yourselves!' With that he turned and marched over to one of the Librarian's tents, disappearing inside.

Nasty, Patreus and Alaster got another quick drink from the stream. Having a couple of minutes to spare, Nasty went and relieved himself behind a bush. They gathered back at the clearing, waiting for Kodos's return.

The sergeant strode back exactly on the five minute mark. Much to the aspirants' surprise, Kodos had removed his armour. He was now wearing a simple belted robe, in the Storm Ravens colours, with the chapter crest across the back. It left his arms bare – and unobstructed. A single knife was thrust through a loop in his belt; it was the only weapon Kodos was carrying.

If anything, Kodos looked scarier now. Before, Alaster could have imagined the sheer size of him was partly armour; maybe under all that ceramite he wasn't so big. But now – the sheer scale of seven feet and four inches of Space Marine was awe-inspiring. Alaster could also see just how muscular Kodos actually was. His exposed arms put Alaster in mind of tree trunks. Bulging veins stood out along his neck and wrists. All the exposed skin was marked with scars. 'Built like a brick skakhouse,' Nasty whispered from behind. The scarred aspirant sounded impressed.

Alaster noticed that Kodos's robe didn't quite close near his throat. The small triangle of exposed chest looked odd. It was hairless and there seemed to be some sort of dark shadow just underneath the skin, like a huge bruise except somehow more solid. Alaster wondered what it was.

Kodos stood, facing them, his back to a nearby tree. 'You actually all made it back – by the Emperor, wonders will never cease. All the way from the stream, too. And you didn't even get lost on the way. My, oh my.

'Now that you're back, it's time to see you fight. Or try to, anyway. As you can see, I've levelled the playing field for you. You can actually get at me. I'd enjoy watching you all break your fragile little knuckles on ceramite but the Librarian told me I can't do that. So – who's going to go first? Any of you brave enough to volunteer, or do I have to pick?'

Nasty shouldered his way forward, pushing past Alaster. 'I'll have you any day,' he growled.

Kodos grinned, eyes gleaming with a menacing light. 'Excellent – Cadet Sandy is our first victim. Well, come forward, Cadet. Let's see if you do have any nastiness in you.' In the background, something rustled in the bushes. A startled bird trilled.

Nasty didn't hesitate. He launched himself at Kodos. Alaster gasped as he watched the aspirant hurtle toward the sergeant. Kodos watched him come. At the last instant, he stepped aside from the tree.

Nasty shot past him. His feet skidded on the ground. A plume of dust erupted around him. Eyes wide with panic, he waved his arms. He didn't have time to stop. He slammed chest-first into the tree trunk.

Alaster winced at the crunch.

Kodos looked cynical. 'That didn't take long. I didn't even touch him – oh, look at this, he's getting up!'

Nasty had sprawled to a stunned holt at the foot of the tree. As Kodos talked, he had shaken his head. Then he had grabbed at the trunk with one hand and used the other to lever himself up. With a grunt of effort, Nasty got to his feet. His face was red and shiny with sweat and Alaster could hear his breath – but he was on his feet.

'I'm not done yet,' Nasty growled, staring at Kodos.

Kodos looked pleased. 'Okay – yes, that's actually almost adequate. Lesson one to you all – a warrior isn't out till he's dead.'

Nasty dropped into a crouch and edged toward Kodos. Kodos feinted with his fist. Nasty stepped to the side. The fist just missed him. Kodos brought his other arm up to strike.

Nasty leapt forward. He ducked under Kodos's arm-

His breath erupted in a loud 'oof!' as Kodos kicked him in the ribs. Nasty was knocked backwards. He stumbled but turned his fall into a roll. Nasty came to his feet, looking dazed, a few feet from Kodos. He clutched at his left ribs.

Nasty shook his head. His eyes focused in on Kodos, with a glare of pure hate. Nasty charged. Kodos swung an arm to block him. Nasty ducked past it.

Alaster didn't quite see what happened next, but he did hear a thud as something connected with something else. Nasty stepped back, a smug look on his face. The smug look faded and became confused. He was looking at Kodos, whose only apparent reaction was a quizzical half-smile.

Kodos's fist was surgical. It hit Nasty right above the bridge of the nose. Nasty was knocked back a couple of feet. He slumped to the ground, stunned.

Kodos walked over to him. He stood, hands on hips, looking down at the aspirant. 'That little manoeuvre'd work on a human,' he remarked. 'Unfortunately for you, it won't on a Raven. We don't have that weakness. The balls go during the geneseed process, you see. You tried to kicking them, but you're two hundred and seventy years late for that. You can't put a Space Marine down that way.'

The reaction in the audience to that revelation was mixed. Some aspirants looked shocked and frightened, several looked disbelieving and a few seemed amused. One of them sniggered.

Kodos's scowl was thunderous. 'Cadet Fegust – you think your training is funny? Well, in that case, you can take Cadet Sandy here to the stream. He needs his head clearing with cold water. Now move!'

A chastened aspirant – Fegust, presumably – emerged from the crowd. He gathered up Nasty's limp form and dragged him off toward the stream.

Kodos watched him go, then regarded the aspirants. 'Right, one down, fifty-nine to go. Who's next?'

There was a rustle behind Alaster. To his astonishment, Patreus stepped forward. 'I will be, Sergeant,' he said.

Kodos lifted an eyebrow. 'So you will. All right then, Cadet Patreus, let's see what you can do.'

Patreus stood in front of the sergeant. He adopted a pose of some sort. He seemed focused and alert. A half-smile played on his lips. He was stood almost side on to Kodos, one foot placed in front of the other.

'Well?' Kodos asked. 'Are you going to do anything?'

'You can strike first, Sergeant.' Patreus looked at Kodos expectantly.

What was the idiot doing? Alaster could see that he admired the Space Marines and he got the impression that Patreus might be very religious, but this was going too far, surely? Alaster wondered if Patreus understood what he'd just done. He might as well have just asked Kodos to punch his lights out. Alaster wanted to shout a warning.

Like lightning, Kodos struck.

Alaster didn't quite catch what Patreus did. He did catch a flash of two arms, grabbing Kodos's wrist. Alaster heard an explosive release of breath. The twisting feet swirled up a cloud of dust, obscuring everything. When it cleared, Kodos was stood on the opposite side, Patreus half-facing him in the same pose as before. Just for an instant, Kodos looked surprised. The usual truculence dropped back onto his face like shutters falling.

'Well,' he said, 'that was cute.'

He struck again. Patreus brought his arms up into some sort of guard stance. At the last instant, Kodos kicked instead of punched.

Patreus grabbed his leg and pivoted on one foot.

Dust exploded around them. Kodos stumbled out of the cloud. He just about caught his footing. The dust settled, revealing a calm and unperturbed Patreus.

Someone prodded Alaster in the back. A voice whispered, 'What's happening?'

Alaster turned. It was Nasty. Quietly, Alaster said, 'Patreus is fighting Kodos.'

Nasty's eyes glittered. Rivulets of water were still running down his forehead. His hair sat wet against his head, shining in the sun. A red swelling was rising on Nasty's forehead. 'Well isn't this interesting,' Nasty murmured.

A loud grunt drew Alaster's attention back to the fight. He turned just in time to see Patreus grab for Kodos's arm with one hand. As he did, Kodos was just about to spring at him. Kodos's foot tensed on the ground. In the last possible instant, as he leapt, Patreus stuck and arm against Kodos's ribs and grabbed the arm with the other. He pushed up on one and down on the other.

Kodos's leap turned into an unexpected flight through the air.

He landed five feet away with a thump. He recovered almost instantly, back on his feet. Alaster noticed he was watching Patreus with interest. There was a calculating look on the sergeant's face.

Nasty leaned forward and whispered to Alaster. 'Patreus – he's using some sort of martial art, isn't he?'

It seemed the sergeant had come to the same conclusion. He said to Patreus, 'What is this called?'

'The Way of the Leaf, sergeant.'

'The Way of the Leaf. The meaning being?'

'To be like the leaf in the storm, sergeant.'

'That sounds a bit rubbish.'

'If I'm to be permitted an opinion, I would disagree, sergeant.'

'Would you?'

'Yes. The leaf rides on the winds until they blow out – then the leaves settles to the ground, while the wind is nothing. The Way is to be like that leaf, not the wind.'

Kodos looked enlightened. 'You're using my strength against me, aren't you?'

Patreus nodded. 'That's the idea, sergeant.'

'This Way – does it use the usual gradings?'

'Yes, Sergeant.'

'And you are?'

'Last Septuary I earned a grey robe. I would have been testing for the red next week, but of course I'm here instead.'

Kodos nodded, slowly. 'A grey robe. And you are, what, fifteen?'

'Yes sergeant.'

'That's not bad. I've known men in their thirties who haven't got to grey yet.'

Looking bashful, Patreus said, 'I did start learning when I was five, sergeant.'

Kodos smiled. 'Of course, now that you've so kindly told me what you're doing, I know how to counter it. Thank you, Cadet.' Kodos dropped into a stance of his own.

The two went at it again. They vanished into a blur of legs and arms. Alaster lost track of what was happening, or who was winning. In the end, it was Kodos, although it took a surprising twenty minutes.

Kodos stood over his opponent's stunned form as the dust settled. 'Well,' the sergeant allowed with obvious reluctance, 'that wasn't too shabby. Cadet Sandy, I think you should take your section-mate to the stream. Looks like he needs waking up.'

For once, Nasty co-operated without argument.

Kodos glowered at the aspirants. 'Right, who's next?'

Alaster decided to get this over with. 'Me,' he said, stepping forward.

'Three from the same section,' Kodos remarked. 'Well, let's see how you do.'

Unlike Patreus, Alaster only lasted a couple of minutes. He woke up shortly afterwards, next to the stream. Patreus and Nasty had just finished splashing cold water over him.

'That was skakking wussy,' Nasty told him bluntly.

Alaster groaned. 'I didn't even see his fist.'

'That's cos it wasn't,' Nasty told him.

'He roundhoused you,' Patreus explained. 'You were staring at his hands. You should try and keep everything in sight. It's the ones you don't see that kill you.'

'Spoken like the expert,' Alaster groaned. 'Oh hang on, you are, aren't you?'

Patreus looked embarrassed at the praise. 'Well, I'm only a grey,' he said.

'Only, he says,' muttered Nasty.

Patreus looked at Nasty. 'I think we should teach this one to fight,' he said, in a rush.

Alaster waited for Nasty to argue. Instead, the aspirant just nodded. 'Yeah, I guess we should. I can do the vicious street brawling, you can do the clever stuff. And Admin-boy here apparently can't do anything. 'Cept get kicked in the chin.'

'And tents,' Patreus added, 'which, actually, was quite useful.'

Alaster was puzzled by the exchange. He'd formed the impression that Nasty didn't like Patreus. It seemed the cadet had changed his mind.

With a groan, Alaster sat up. His chin was sore. To Patreus he said, 'So how come you know this 'Way of the leaf'? I didn't think monks were much into violence.'

A shadow crossed Patreus's face. Alaster wondered for a moment if he'd said something wrong. In a careful tone, Patreus answered, 'The Way teaches self-discipline. It teaches impulse control. If you give into your urgings, you can't do it properly. You need self-discipline in a monastery. The simple life can be hard to maintain. It's so easy to give into worldly things. One of the brothers knew this art. He used to give classes. I went - it helped me focus. I needed that.'

Nasty was frowning. 'What was this monastery like?'

Patreus looked uncomfortable. 'It was – it was old, you know. It had been going a while.' He fidgeted, playing with his ear.

'What does that mean?' Nasty asked.

Patreus looked over his shoulder. 'It means we need to get back – quick. Looks like Kodos is about to put someone else down.'

'He's right,' Alaster said. 'We don't want him to see we're gone.'

They rushed back to the huddle of aspirants. They arrived just in time to see another unconscious body hit the floor.

'Any volunteers?' Kodos asked the crowd. Silence greeted his request. He rolled his eyes. 'Oh come on. If those three skakkers-' he pointed at Alaster, Patreus and Nasty '-had the balls to fight then the rest of you have no excuse. No? No takers? Okay then. Cadet Fegust, you made an idiot of yourself earlier. No get up here. Let's see if you're good for anything else.'

Fegust walked forward. He was a brown-haired boy with a freckled face and a terrified expression. Alaster felt horrified sympathy. He couldn't watch. He looked at Patreus instead.

Patreus had gone pale. He was hugging his stomach, mouth creased. He looked ill. 'Are you okay?' Alaster asked.

'I'm feeling funny,' Patreus said quietly. He looked distracted. He was staring at the big tent where the librarian was doing his 'tests'.

'Yeah, I've been wondering what's going on in there myself,' Alaster said. 'They've been in there awhile.'

Patreus looked worried. 'I – yes, it seems odd, doesn't it.'

Alaster was about to ask what seemed odd when the sound of a fist hitting a skull distracted him. Cadet Fegust was on the ground. He'd lasted all of thirty seconds. Alaster felt slightly better. Then he felt guilty for being cheered by Fegust's defeat.

Alaster became aware of a sound. It was a faint susurration. It was as if many voices were talking, somewhere in the woods. Alaster realised he felt cold. He shivered, wondering where the sound was coming from. He rubbed his arms together. He noticed the wind had dropped away to nothing. He strained his ears – the woods were quiet. He couldn't hear any birds tweeting or any animals rustling in the undergrowth.

'Well,' Kodos was saying, 'that didn't take – hang on.'

The sergeant was looking at the tent. Alaster followed his gaze. The door-flap of the tent was twitching, as if on the wind. Alaster glimpsed an odd white light behind it. He wondered why someone had put a lamp next to the door.

Or was it a lamp?

A sense of wrongness settled over Alaster. He glanced at Patreus. Patreus was staring at the tent with visible loathing.

Kodos looked at the aspirants. A strange new light entered his eyes. His hand, Alaster noted, was on the hilt of his knife. He spoke with urgency and sudden authority. 'All of you – go to the other side of the camp. Move!'

The aspirants needed no more urging. Alaster grabbed Patreus's elbow and towed him along as he ran. Nasty sprinted alongside them. The crowd of aspirants flowed along the row of tents.

Alaster hazarded a glance behind him. Kodos was running toward the tent!

Things were definitely amiss. The tent canopy was inflated, bulging against the guy-lines, as if being pushed by a wind from inside. White light, unsteady and shifting, spilled out from under the flaps.

A scream cried out from inside.

Patreus dropped to his knees and started praying. Alaster stood, stunned and unsure. That sound – it had been so desolate, so empty! It had chilled him to the core.

The susurration was louder now. Kodos was approaching the tent. He stood to one side of the door, gripping his knife. He dropped to a crouch and reached for the flap-

Three loud, staccato bangs boomed out. Something else howled inside the tent. The light flared and died. The tent sagged back down. Once more, the hot, cloying heat of the jungle closed around Alaster. He breathed in sudden, blessed relief. A bird squawked in the bush. The sounds of the forest rose again.

Kodos lifted up the flap and ducked inside.

'Quick,' Nasty said, grabbing Alaster's hand, 'let's get over there. I want to know what's happening!'

Alaster didn't think this was a good plan but allowed himself to be towed along anyway. Moments later they were beside the tent.

Straining his ears, Alaster could just hear some conversation from inside.

'-minor incursion,' one voice was saying. Alaster thought it was the librarian, Kaylos. 'Three bolts were sufficient.'

'Minor? We felt it from the other side of the camp.'

'It attempted a freeze. Slowed us down a little, I'll admit. Not a major threat. It attacked only the weakest here, not us.'

'That's not much consolation. It's the first day and we've got three dead aspirants.'

'They weren't aspirants by the time we had to shoot them, Brother Sergeant.'

'Yes, my lord librarian, I understand that. I'm not questioning your actions. I'm well aware that you had no choice. But I have a responsibility toward my charges. I need to know that this isn't going to happen again.'

'The wards on the apparatus must have weakened. I shall strengthen them next.'

'Please see that you do, my lord.'

'We will be ready to begin testing again in one hour. The calibrations on the machines will need adjusting after that.'

'Okay. While you do that I'm going to retrieve my pistol. Looks like a knife won't cut it if that happens again.'

'I assure you, it won't. The odds of another latent psyker of that power … quite low, Brother Sergeant. Quite low.'

Kodos growled, 'I'm going to get my gun all the same. If you'll excuse me, my lord?'

'Of course.'

Hearing that, Alaster and Nasty quickly retreated to the huddle of aspirants. They only just made it before Kodos reappeared from the tent. Kodos was carrying his plasma pistol as well as the knife. As he walked toward the aspirants, he fastened a belt-loop tight around the end of it. It hung there, swinging as he walked.

'Right,' he said, glaring at the aspirants, 'excitement over. Time for our next volunteer…'

As Kodos demolished another teenager, Alaster watched Patreus. The cadet seemed much better. He'd lost the pallour and he wasn't hugging his stomach anymore. Alaster wondered at Patreus's strange behaviour. He supposed Patreus might have heard the weird sound before he did and had reacted to it. Patreus must have good ears!

Some time later, the librarian reappeared from the tent. He had removed his helmet at some point; Alaster noted he had blue eyes. He waited patiently for the sergeant to finish flattening yet another recruit. Looking up from the latest body, Kodos said, 'Are we ready?'

'We are,' Kaylos said. 'The next on the schedule is Section Alaster.'

Skak – Alaster realised that was them!

'If you'd step forward, please.' The phrasing was polite but Alaster knew better than to disobey. He stepped forward. Nasty followed. After a slight but visible hesitation, Patreus followed.

'This way,' Kaylos said and beckoned them toward the tent.

They followed him. Patreus was looking nervous. He kept rubbing his hands and worrying at an ear. Alaster felt for him – that had been a scary display earlier!

The tent was cooler inside. Getting out of the glare of the sun was a relief. Alaster looked around. It was big inside – easily a party-sized marquee, he supposed. It had been separated into three areas with loose internal curtains. Equipment was set up on trestle tables. Cogitators and monitors were everywhere. A couple of marines were doing things on the cogitators – Alaster couldn't quite make out what. Graphics and diagrams spooled meaninglessly on the screens. Next to the entrance to each tent-compartment stood a Space Marine, silent and statue-like in their attentive stance. Each one, Alaster noted, was cradling a bolter.

There was a fourth compartment. Its curtain-door was zipped tightly shut. Alaster noticed a dark stain on the compacted-earth floor, in front of the door. Uneasily, he wondered what it was. He had a suspicion he didn't want to know.

'Cadet Sandy, you're in Room One,' Kaylos told Nasty. One of the compartment flap-doors had a big number one stencilled on it; Nasty walked to that flap and entered.

'Cadet Patreus, you're in Two.' Patreus walked to the compartment. He looked like he was on his way to his own execution. That affair earlier must have shaken him up.

Alaster admitted to himself that he wasn't feeling too optimistic either.

'Cadet Alaster, you're with me in Three.' Alaster followed the librarian into the compartment.

Inside it was even more equipment of various sorts. Some of it was obviously medical. Some of it was harder to make sense of. In the corner was something a little like a dentist's chair, except that it had a peculiar framework-skullcap suspended over the headrest. Odd lights glowed on the skeletal cap. It sprouted wires. They rose in a forest and then tightened into a cable. It ran along one of the ten poles, where the cable was connected to a cogitator. The attached screen had what looked like a cut-away picture of a brain on it.

'The first things we do,' the librarian explained, 'are purely medical.' He was holding a large needle. Alaster stared at it. 'We need to start with a blood sample. If I could take your arm, please?'

Wordlessly, Alaster held out his nearest arm. The needle went in with a sting and withdrew, filled with red blood. Kaylos gave him a plaster to put over the small wound.

Kaylos took the syringe over to one of the cogitators. With his other hand, he brushed a couple of incense-sticks that were in a holder next to it. The room seemed colder for a moment, then smoke rose from the sticks! Alaster stared.

Kaylos looked amused. 'A trivial use of my psychic gifts,' he explained. 'It makes invoking the machine-spirit slightly faster.' He murmured an intonation to the machine and then he put the syringe into a nozzle in a device wired up to the cogitator. He pushed the handle of the syringe, emptying its contents into the device. 'There. When that's finished its work, we will have the verdict on your compatibility.'

'My compatibility?' From somewhere, Alaster found the nerve to speak.

'With our geneseed,' Kaylos explained. He opened a box on a nearby trestle table, lifting out an implement resembling a paddle. A long cord ran from its handle; Kaylos plugged the end into one of the machines. 'If you'd raise your arms - hold them out – like that, thank you…' The librarian swept the paddle up and down in front of Alaster as he held his arms out. He noticed an image forming on a screen to his left. It appeared to be a cross-section of a human body. As Kaylos swept the paddle up and down, the visible layer kept changing.

Alaster realised it was his body.

Kaylos put the paddle down on the table it had come from. He looked at the screen, tapping a few keys. Some green bars appeared along the bottom, along with some scrolling text. 'No evidence of internal mutation,' he said. 'That's good – you're free of foulness. And no immediate evidence of organ deficiencies. Also good.'

'You can tell all that just from the screen?' Alaster was impressed.

'This is a quick analysis, Cadet' Kaylos said, pointing at the bars. 'There's a lot more data here, and in the blood test. We send it all back to the Ravenholme. The Tech-Adepts and the medicae there do a fuller analysis. We have your medical records, of course, but it never hurts to check. Doctors miss things, sometimes.'

'Internal mutation?'

'An insidious condition. You can't tell by looking, you see. There's a tragic side to it as well – the person with it sometimes has no idea.'

'Sometimes? Surely there's no way to find out, short of this.'

'Oh it usually has effects,' Kaylos said. 'If your innards don't quite work properly, or you haven't got the right things, well, you'll discover that pretty quickly. But you get some things like having one less kidney or something else extra … those don't always make the bearer sick, you see. Most horrific of all, they can even convey small advantages. We don't see many internal mutants, but it has happened. We The can't enter the gene-pool. If we do come across such a case, we put the unfortunate down, you see. Filthy mutants.'

Alaster shuddered. Mutation. What a horrific thought.

Kaylos noticed his revulsion. 'Yes, quite, Cadet,' he said approvingly. 'Fortunately, mutants are a small problem here on Delta Octalis. Five thousand years of selective breeding has mostly eradicated them. I sometimes wonder why the rest of the Imperium doesn't use a similar system. I can only imagine it's the liberal fringe in the Administratum, frustrating those of us with actual work to do.' The librarian opened another case on the table. He dug out a small plastic sample-capsule. He thumbed open the cap and handed it to Alaster. 'We also use the blood sample for the selective breeding program. Something to extrapolate from. When all those One and Two-level couples decide they want kids and they go off to the IVF place … well, that's where they'll be getting them from. Their own genes aren't good enough, but yours are. Or at least they're supposed to be, given that you're here.'

Kaylos looked at the geneseed machine. Whatever it was doing, it didn't seem ready yet. He adjusted a dial, muttering something irritably about 'damnable gas chromatographs'. Apparently the gas chromatograph, whatever that was, was playing up. Once that was done, he sighed and turned back to Alaster.

'Right, Cadet,' he said, 'I'd like you to take a seat in the chair.' He pointed to the dentist-reminiscent contraption Alaster had noted earlier.

Alaster walked over and sat down, awkwardly. He was startled as the chair adjusted itself with a quiet whirr of servos. There was a click and his wrists felt cold. Looking down, he saw that metal restraints had snapped into place over them. His legs were similarly-held, just above his ankles.

There was a whirr from above. The bizarre skeletal-cap thing settled against his head. Alaster was feeling alarmed.

'Uh – my lord – what is this for?' he asked carefully.

Kaylos was adjusting another piece of equipment. 'This? Oh – this is the second set of tests, beyond the purely medical. These examine your brain – or more accurately, what's going on in it. Don't worry about the restraints, they're just a safety precaution.' He flipped a switch and a screen flickered into life in front of Alaster. 'We'll start with some simple things – visual tasks.'

Alaster underwent half an hour of various tests. They seemed to revolve around hand-eye co-ordination and pattern recognition. One of them was a straightforward optician's chart. Alaster wondered what the point of that was – he'd done that before, so many times. Another one showed him the silhouettes of various vehicles and aircraft, seen from different angles and distances. He had to guess the type of vehicle and the relative distances. That was harder, but more fun. He was shown a series of coloured screens and had to state when he couldn't make out any hint of colour anymore. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when the red faded to black and the same with the violet at the start. Alaster supposed it was something to do with visual depth. Various other, even less comprehensible things were done.

They moved onto sounds. Alaster had to listen to a string of noises and try and identify them – which ones were moving, which were stationery and then what they were. That was hard – for most of them, he had no idea. He was played a series of higher- and higher-pitched tones, and had to say when he couldn't hear anything anymore.

After the sounds, Alaster was put through something resembling an intelligence test. After several minutes of 'Apple is to tree as fruit is to - (choose one from the list)' he found himself baffled as to what this had to do with anything. His alarm at the restraints was fading, being replaced by simple confusion. None of this activity seemed to have any bearing on being a Space Marine. He debated asking but decided against it.

Throughout, Kaylos watched and ran the tests. He remained inscrutable, not giving any hint of whether Alaster was doing well or not.

Finally, he clicked the screen off. 'Time for the last round,' Kaylos remarked. He flicked another switch. Alaster heard a hum rise; the skeletal cap suddenly became warm against his skin. He felt weird for a moment.

'What's going on?'

'This is where we test you for any psychic ability,' Kaylos said, matter-of-factly.

Alaster felt a stab of fresh fear. He blurted, 'Was that what happened earlier? With the light and the sound?'

Kaylos pursed his lips and frowned. 'What happened earlier is no concern of yours, aspirant. However, since you insist on asking – yes, one of the cadets was a latent psyker. Something tried to use him as a bridge. It was contained almost immediately.'

'Is that - is that likely to happen again?'

'No – that was very much a fluke. Only the second time I've seen anything like it. I've been doing this for more than seventeen decades. More minor phenomena can occur but that was exceptional. Someone with that much power will usually have manifested it by now.'

'What does the machine do? Is it psychic?'

Kaylos snorted. 'Hardly. Its precise operation is not my concern. I do understand that it uses magnetic fields, stimulating the brain directly. Once stimulus is applied, we can quantify the response. That tells us how much potential you have.'

'So a result is a fail?'

'Not really. A psyker is useful if he's tough enough. Brother-Librarians have to come from somewhere. It's not like being a mutant, after all.' The librarian's tone made it clear who he thought the real monsters were. Kaylos adjusted something; the hum rose in pitch and Alaster felt weird again. This time the sensation stayed with him. 'We'll start with telepathy. The screen will display a number; try and send it to me.'

The screen flickered back into life, displaying a big number five.

Alaster wondered how exactly he was meant to transmit a thought? Nonetheless he tried, screwing up his face with the effort. Kaylos didn't even look up from a read-out.

'Minus eight point three,' he remarked, to himself. He adjusted a dial and Alaster felt the weirdness fade. Kaylos glanced at Alaster. Opaquely, he commented, 'The scale's logarithmic, you know. When I did this, I scored in at plus two.'

Alaster blinked owlishly. He wondered if that had been meant to mean something.

Apparently it didn't matter – Kaylos looked back to his machine. He turned another dial. Alaster felt weird again – but this time it was more of a kinetic, twitchy sensation. He felt like he wanted to grab things and throw them.

'Telekinesis now,' Kaylos remarked. He reached into a belt pouch and produced a weight. He put it down on the table, in Alaster's sight. 'Try to lift the weight – using only your mind.'

Alaster concentrated. Nothing visible happened.

'Minus nine point one,' Kaylos said. 'Telekinetic faculty negligible.' He turned the dial and the weird sensation went away. 'Two more to go,' he told Alaster.

He reached for another dial. A new sensation rose up. Alaster felt floaty, disconnected, abstruse. It was hard to describe and not entirely pleasant.

'In a minute the screen will flash a sequence of random numbers. I want you to try and foresee how many and their values. You have thirty seconds.' Thirty seconds later, Kaylos said, 'Report, Cadet!'

Alaster had no idea. He took a guess. 'Uh, seven numbers. One, three, one, six, one, four, two. My lord.'

A few seconds later, the screen flashed up three numbers: nine, eight and seven.

There was a hint of amusement in the librarian's eyes. 'Precognition minus nine point eight – almost off the bottom of the graph there, Cadet. You are no seer.' He turned down the dial and the weird sensation went away. Alaster breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a rustle from the door. Kaylos and Alaster looked over as one. A marine had entered the room. The marine banged on his breastplate in salute to the librarian, then said, 'Brother-Corporal Sarran requests your presence, my lord. Room two.'

'What does this concern, Brother Haral?'

'A strange result, my lord.'

'All right. I will follow immediately.' Kaylos shot a stern glance to Alaster. Unnecessarily, he said, 'Don't go anywhere, Cadet!' He then followed the other Storm Raven out.

Alaster watched them go. Room two – that was where Patreus had gone.

He sat there in the room, on his own, for about a quarter of an hour. At first it was worrying – he was half-expecting white light to spill through the door at a moment's notice. He wondered if he would be able to break out of this chair, if he had to. That led to a brief panic. To calm himself down, he started counting objects in the room. It succeeded; he quickly felt bored instead of scared.

Finally, the librarian returned. He entered the room on his own. He walked back over to the machines and started doing something.

Hesitant, Alaster asked, 'Is – is everything all right, my lord?'

The librarian glanced up, looking irritated at the distraction. 'Yes, Cadet, everything is in order. The machines in the other compartment had a calibration error, that's all. I suppose the drama earlier must have angered their machine-spirits. They gave a spurious result. The brothers needed help to readjust them. There's no problem – so sit back, please.'

Alaster was coming to recognise an order when he heard one, so he sat back.

A few minutes later, the tests were over. Alaster found himself waiting outside the tent. Nasty was already there. He was stood with his arms folded and a cynical expression on his face. As Alaster arrived, he said, 'So are you a rogue psyker, then?'

'Apparently not. You?'

'No. My head's as dead as a brick.'

Alaster resisted the urge to be sarcastic. 'How long were you in there for?'

'Not long. I was out ten minutes ago.'

'I guess I got held up. The librarian had to go and see to Patreus. Something about the machines. Say, is he out yet?'

'No. No sign of him.' Nasty focused on Alaster. 'What was that about the machines?'

'Oh, one of the marines came to fetch Kaylos. Said there was some sort of odd result or something. Kaylos said it was a calibration problem.'

'Did he now. Isn't that interesting?'

'Is it?'

'What do you make of Patreus?'

'Me? Uh, I don't know. He seems nice enough, I suppose. Maybe a bit naïve. Very faithful. And a scary martial artist.'

'Yes. Maybe a bit too scary.'

Alaster frowned. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Don't you think it odd that Patreus is the one who has this calibration problem?'

'Not really.' Alaster fiddled with his ear. 'I'm not sure I see where this is going.'

'I reckon he's got a little secret.'

'What sort?'

Nasty didn't answer directly. 'When he was up there, with Kodos, did you see how fast he was reacting?'

'Yes. It was damn impressive. He was fast.'

'I've been in a few brawls. You can go a long way by watching your opponent. Read his face, watch all the little ticks and twitches. Watch out for when his hands tense, that sort of thing. Often you can guess what he's about to do – split-second's warning. You can get in first.'

'Yes, Patreus was doing that, definitely.'

'Yes, but he was reacting too fast. He countered a few of those twitches before they happened.'

Alaster stared. 'That doesn't make sense.'

'I can't be sure – I might have missed something. He'd a better view of Kodos then I did. But he knew something was happening in the tent.'

'There was the sound.'

'Yes, and the light. But he was reacting before either of them showed up.'

Alaster frowned. He lowered his voice. 'You're suggesting … Patreus is a psyker?'

'Can't be sure,' Nasty said. 'And if he is, he's not a powerful one. He won't be throwing any fireballs anytime soon. They'd have got him by now if he could. But I bet he gets the odd flash of something. You know, little bits of intuition, lucky guesses, that sort of thing. And I wouldn't be surprised if he beats the odds at dice a lot, too.'

'But he seems so religious…'

'Yes, and maybe that's why. Raised in a monastery, surrounded by the ultra-faithful, spending every day looking up to them … and every time you look in the mirror, you wonder if a monster's staring back at you. Nothing like a little bit of denial to make your day go by.'

'You sound like you know it.'

'I do. My gang, we took in a girl two years ago. Natalya, she was called. She was a psyker – not uber-powerful but not weak, either. A telepath.'

Alaster stared, aghast. 'You harboured a rogue psyker?'

'Yes. Actually, she was one of the nicest people I've ever met.'

'You harboured a psyker – but that's against Imperial law!'

'Hey – I'm a multiple murderer, remember? I'm only here because of my capacity for violence. Imperial law isn't something that bothers me.'

'But – but…'

'The psyker thing is rubbish. Natalya never hurt anyone. Not even near the end. Even when that mob was chasing her – she just tried to distract them. Not hurt them. If they'd all left her alone, she'd never have done anything.' There was a glint in Nasty's eyes and a set to his jaw. He was ranting now. 'You know why they have problems with psykers? It's because the response is always shoot first, ask questions never. There's nothing like a lynch mob to make you use your powers. Makes people do things they aren't ready for, aren't trained for – and no wonder it ends badly. If they took people and schooled them properly and gave them help and support … but no, we can't do that, can we? People don't seem to grasp that killing isn't the only answer. You think I mock the law? Well stupid laws deserve mockery. I hate what happened to her and I hate the people who did it.' Nasty folded his arms and glared defiantly.

Alaster flinched back under the verbal onslaught. Deciding to change the subject, he said, 'So what about Patreus? If psykers don't bother you, why does he worry you?'

'He's too religious,' Nasty said bluntly. 'If he comes out there diagnosed with mind-powers, it'll skak him up. I don't know how he'll handle that.'

'Well what do you think he's going to do?'

'He might get all miserable and throw himself off a cliff – if we're lucky.'

Alaster stared. 'That's a horrible thing to say!'

'Ironic – a second ago you were all "hate the mutant, purge the psyker". Well anyway, I reckon the alternative is him going off the handle. I don't want to have to fend off a psychotic grey-robe.'

'Aren't you being-'

Alaster was interrupted by the rustle of the tent-flap. Patreus emerged. He was beaming. He looked delighted.

Alaster and Nasty stared at him.

'I'm pure!' Patreus said. He smiled beatifically.

'Pure?' Alaster blinked stupidly.

'The Emperor's Chosen have tested me and I am free of taint!' Patreus waved his arms excitedly. He was exuberant with delight.

'So how did the psyker thing go?' asked Nasty. He had his best poker face on.

Patreus grinned. 'None whatsoever! The Warp has not tainted me.'

'Were you expecting any other result?'

For just a moment, so fast Alaster almost missed it, Patreus's face twitched. It came and went, leaving Alaster unsure if he'd even seen it. Then Patreus pulled an amused expression. 'Of course not. But it's nice to be told by someone else.'

Smiling, he walked off toward the cluster of aspirants. In the distance, another cadet yelled with pain as Kodos downed him. Birds twittered in the trees and the stream tinkled behind them. Nasty glanced at Alaster with an unreadable expression on his face.

They walked away from the tents.


	4. Chapter 4 A Meeting and a Change

'Come in.'

The door banged open. 'Sergeant Kodos, Training Platoon Two, Fourth Company, reporting as ordered. My lord!' Kodos saluted the captain, banging his fist loudly on his chest-eagle.

A moment later, the door banged shut behind him.

Captain Lakon looked up from the screen on his desk. 'One of these days, Kodos, that door will get there first.' He took Kodos's salute.

Kodos marched into the office. It was large and panelled in rich, reddish-brown Octalian wood. The office was located high up in the central spire of the Ravenholme. The left wall was adorned with a Chapter standard and a company banner, bearing the triangle with lightning bolts that represented the Fourth Company. Lakon had received it from the Raven Lord more then thirty years ago, on his ascension to Brother-Captain. As well as impressive standards, the office had an imposing view over the Chapter's central fortress. From the large bay window behind Lakon's desk, Kodos could see two of the vast building's five radial wings. They fell away like flying buttresses toward the ground, far below. In the distance the sea was just visible, a blue line near the horizon. The sun was casting rays through the patchy cloud in the sky.

The room floor vibrated; with a muffled rumble, a Thunderhawk passed in the near-distance. Neither warrior paid it any notice. They were used to the sound of transports taking off.

Lakon thumbed his screen off. His desk had paperwork heaped up on it, various things awaiting signatures or needing checking. It was the usual bureaucracy generated by any military organisation. He shoved some papers to one side. They rustled, as if in protest at their move.

'So,' he said, 'how are things going?'

'As well as you might expect, given that it's the first week,' Kodos replied. 'So pretty crap. Sir.'

Lakon laughed. 'As good as that? Oh dear.'

'We have three dead already, sir.'

Lakon blinked. 'In week one? But it isn't more then aggressive camping!'

'It was that idiot Kaylos. Sir.'

'Good to know you haven't got any softer to your superiors, Master Sergeant.'

'Then it was that idiot his lordship Brother-Librarian Kaylos. Sir.'

Lakon was used to Kodos's manner. He just nodded. 'So. What did he do this time?'

'I'm not sure – when I asked, he was evasive. It happened in the testing. Seems they attracted something, out of the Warp. It tried to possess the aspirants. One of them was apparently a latent psyker; the probing woke him up or something. I guess when you kick the brain, sometimes it kicks back. Anyway, they couldn't get rid of whatever it was – so they shot the aspirants.'

Lakon nodded. 'No host, no parasite. Not ideal, but Kaylos did act correctly.'

'I appreciate that having Warp-spawn loose amongst the training platoon would be bad,' Kodos agreed. 'But, it shouldn't have happened in the first place. With proper precautions-'

'Whatever they might be,' Lakon replied with evident cynicism.

'I'd like my comments on record anyway, if that would be possible, my lord.' Kodos spoke stiffly.

Lakon nodded. 'Of course, Sergeant. I'll make sure of it. On a different note, how are the aspirants? Any potential?'

Kodos pulled a face. 'Of the ones Kaylos left us … I don't have high hopes. Some funny personalities, but whether they're any use? I'm not sure.'

'Personalities, eh? Sounds interesting. Anyone I should look at particularly? I have all the personnel files here.' Lakon thumbed his screen back on. It beeped in quiet warm-up.

'Cadets Thirty-five, Forty-two and Fifty-one,' Kodos said. Grudgingly, he added, 'They've shown some merit.'

Lakon glanced at the relative files. 'Karo, Patreus and Shepherd.'

'He calls himself Nasty, sir.'

'Does he now? How cute. Is it apt?'

'I rate him as slightly unpleasant, sir. He has an attitude. And he claims to be a murderer.'

'That's true enough. Five manslaughters plus nine murders. His lawyer claimed the last few as self-defence, but the court didn't buy it. Shepherd 'just happened' to be in the way of a mob – sounded a bit contrived, they felt. Particularly since that mob had just killed his girlfriend. They linked him to the other, earlier killings during that prosecution.'

Kodos coughed in surprise. 'Nasty had a girlfriend?'

Lakon stared at him, then laughed. 'He's got you doing it too!'

Kodos looked annoyed. 'So he has. He's hard to forget, I'll give him that. A classic mouthy little criminal.'

Lakon looked at the file. 'Yes. He was running with a gang in Creekside. The murders were a sideline – they happened when his main business went wrong. His real business was mugging. Forty-three counts – and those are just the ones we have on file. A lot of them were near – hello, now there's a coincidence.'

'My lord?'

Lakon's voice hardened. 'Near St Teelek's – the Originist church in Creekside.'

'Originists? Here?' Kodos was disbelieving.

'Yes. I know the Raven Lord has been talking with the First Minister about them a lot, lately. He's been trying to get her to do something. She's reluctant to take action, following the Ikranos trial.'

'That's been sorted out?'

'Yes. Apparently the Ordo Hereticus has decided that they're a, and I quote, "tolerable variation on the Imperial cult".'

Kodos swore, letting rip with a string of obscenities. 'Has the Inquisition gone mad? Their claimed beliefs fly in the face of the Emperor's own works!'

'The rumour mill says it's because of the Originists' anti-mutant efforts. If the Inquisition needs a purge, they're only too happy to help. I guess they can't be bothered to dig the graves themselves.'

'The Church should crack down on them.'

'I agree, Brother. However, I understand the Church is split on the issue. There are sympathisers in the Ecclesiarchy. I suspect that's partly why the First Minister isn't keen to get involved. Faithful Road's funding comes from the pews. The last Yelessa wants to hear is a denunciation from the pulpit. Particularly with polls due in autumn.'

'Originists … on Octalis. How did that happen? I'd have thought they'd take one look at this planet and run a klick.'

'Not at all. A Chapter homeworld makes a degree of sense, if you buy into their poisonous philosophy. After all, if they believe that Marines are mutants then to them, we also need eradicating. If they can't get the Imperium to do anything-'

'Because the High Lords have better sense,' Kodos said acidly.

'-then maybe they can bully people into not joining us. Every Marine they avert is a mutant they've purged, as far as they're concerned.'

'Skaking traitors. We should go in there. Half an hour in Creekside and we could put this poison down.'

'And make them look like a persecuted sect? When the Inquisition has recognised them? No – and anyway, the Storm Ravens are sworn to uphold the Compact. If we go out all guns blazing on this planet, we're breaking our own Chapter law. And the Emperor forbid that anyone innocent gets in the way – as is bound to happen in a big city like Creekside. The consequences of all that'd be a problem. We are answerable to the Imperium's laws – as we should be.'

Kodos ground his teeth. 'I find politics frustrating.'

'I do too, Sergeant. For the record, I'm every bit as angry as you. However, I think the Raven Lord is taking the right course. When it comes to politics, one day's quiet diplomacy is worth a year of mailed fists. The Ministry and the Assembly will act eventually.'

'You have a lot of faith in them, my lord.'

'Oh, hardly. It's a question of money, really. We just need to make them realise the worst-case scenario. If Delta Octalis loses the Chapter, then the Deltan people have to start paying tithes to the Administratum again. It's been five thousand years since anyone had to do that – half of the planet's businesses are based on tithe-freedom. Faithful Road can survive some bad words from the pulpit – but planetary bankruptcy? They'd never form a ministry again. The politics are awkward now, yes, but the Assembly isn't going to let things get that far out of hand. No, the Originists are a nuisance and nothing else. If we draw too much attention to it, we'll merely feed it. If we just wait a little while, they'll fade away of their own accord.

'Although, looking at these records, I do wonder if your friend Nasty here might just share our opinions.'

'My lord?'

'The fourteen men he killed. Nine of them at once – the mob I mentioned. Five of them were Guard veterans. All of them were Originists.'

'Guardsmen amongst Originists? I'd expect better of them.' Kodos looked angrier now. 'The day Octalian soldiers side with Originist scum - it's a dark one for this world's honour!'

'I wonder if they faced traitors at some point,' Lakon mused. 'If a Chaos Marine was the only Space Marine you'd met … well, I suppose that would be a radicalising experience. Anyway, Cadet Shepherd here took them all down – and quickly, too. He took only minor injuries. That was how his lawyer got us to look at him.'

'He'd taken down veteran soldiers. Not just street scum.' Kodos nodded. 'Oh, he's pretty hard, all right. I'll concede that. He's a good brawler, too. I tried him out on the first day. He did well against me. Only Patreus lasted longer.'

'Patreus. What do you think of him?'

'He's a capable martial artist. He held me off for twenty minutes.'

Lakon stared. 'Twenty minutes? By the Emperor!'

'Telling the truth, sir, he nearly had me at one point. If he'd been more aggressive, he'd have done it, too.'

'I wonder who trained him,' Lakon said. 'See if you can get a name – maybe his master would run a few tutorials for us. Sounds like this Way of the Twig or whatever it was could be useful.'

'Way of the Leaf, my lord,' Kodos said diplomatically. 'Patreus's flaw is the opposite of Nas – of Cadet Shepherd's. He's not vicious enough. He didn't follow up his opening thrusts. Shepherd tried a kick in the balls – a good move, on a normal, and he wasn't to know it wouldn't work. I don't think Patreus would even think of that.'

'Anything else strike you?'

'He's very faithful – which is good, of course. But I think he's a bit too churchy, a bit too focused on the institution itself.'

Lakon nodded. 'Not really good in an Astartes, no. There are good reasons why we have our own cults.'

'We might be able to wean him off it – but that remains to be seen.'

'And Cadet Shepherd's flaws?'

'Are many. He has a bad attitude. He tests authority. He doesn't seem very faithful and he lacks discipline. I'm trying to find a way to make him focus – but I suspect nothing short of actual combat will do it.'

'And without discipline, he'd just be a danger to his comrades. Yes, I see the problem. Team games, perhaps?'

'I've set a couple of sporting teams up. It's probably too early – but we'll see what the effects are.'

Lakon nodded. 'They all tested out negative for psychic powers?'

'There was a flap with Patreus. Kaylos said he thought he'd found something but he didn't sound too sure. He voxed the data to the Ravenholme for checking and they said it was definitely a negative. I know he was having some problems with the equipment. He said it was due to the incursion. I think he didn't get it set up correctly in the first place. So I'd discount Kaylos's comments, my lord.'

'You don't like him, do you?'

'He got three of my aspirants killed on the first day. They're my responsibility. If an aspirant dies, I want to know that I did everything I could to get him through. I can't, this time. It's on my conscience – and I didn't even do it. I'm not happy about that. My lord.'

'Okay.' Lakon nodded. 'What about the third one – Cadet Karo?'

'A surprise, my lord.'

'How so?'

'His file reads like a textbook level five kid. His parents are both fives – they're clerks at the Administratum offices in the capital. He was heading that way too – the job's been in the family for the last four generations. The only reason he's here is that stunt he pulled with Brother Thaddeus.'

Lakon nodded. 'I know. I was there. I saw it happen.'

'I assumed that was just an accident. I figured he wouldn't last the first day. But he did. I sent them to get the tents, and he figured out what I wanted in two goes.'

'Two goes?' Lakon looked impressed. 'It took my section three days to get that right, back then.'

'Then it turns out Karo actually has outdoors experience. Seems one of the people at his office ran little trips for the kids. I guess he figured too much time around bureaucracy isn't healthy.'

Lakon cast a cynical eye over the paperwork on his desk. 'Someone in the Administratum has the brains they were born with. Now that is a surprise.'

'Anyway, Karo got their tent up – and even showed the others how to do it.'

'Teamwork.'

'Yes. On day one.'

'That was fast. Well done.'

'Frankly my lord, I couldn't believe it. I only had to put them onto bread and water for two days.'

'That sounds promising. My training section didn't get off bread and water for a week.'

'Mine would've been on it for a month – but we got good at scrounging.' Kodos grinned.

Lakon snorted. 'Yes, living off the land is handy, isn't it? Okay- so in summary, the nerdy kid has some useful skills. Anything else?'

'Well, he's braver then I expected. He stood up and fought me on the first day. Not very well – there wasn't anything he could manipulate. I could see him looking around for something, like he did with Thaddeus. But still, he had the guts to do it. After him, I had to call out all the cadets by name.'

'Now that isn't a good sign.'

'No, my lord.'

'Have you had the geneseed data back yet?'

'Yes, my lord. We got another surprise with Karo.'

'That being?'

'No allergies and ninety-eight percent compatibility.'

'Ninety-?' Lakon blinked. 'By the Emperor! So for geneseed, he's a safe bet.'

'Yes my lord. Shepherd and Patreus also topped eighty-five.'

'The other aspirants. How many seventy-pluses were you left with?'

'The Selection medicals get rid of most of the incompatible. We only had to send away six for below-threshold scores.'

'So you've got fifty-one left?'

'Forty-eight, sir. Three more have quit since day one.'

'Well we can expect to lose half of the rest by fortnight's end. Once they figure out the grilling they're in for, they start buckling.'

'Sir, where are we for targets?'

'There are seven training platoons this year. We started with about five hundred aspirants. To keep the company's strength up, we need to find ourselves at least five and preferably seven to ten new warriors.'

'Out of only five hundred? That's going to be tough work, my lord.'

'Yes, this year's Selectees are a weak bunch. Last year we had eight hundred to choose from. Unfortunately, we can't water down the Selection.'

'No, that wouldn't be fair to the Chapter.'

'Or for that matter the recruits themselves. Not just anyone can carry a Raven's burden.'

'No my lord. It's why these three are so frustrating.'

'How do you mean?'

'All of them are good at some things and skakking useless at everything else. If I could just glue them together or something, we'd have the perfect aspirant.'

'Or you'd have someone hopeless. No, we work with what the Emperor gives us, Brother. His plan may not be obvious sometimes but I do not doubt its wisdom.'

'Of course not, my lord.'

'All right. I'd like you to keep up the weekly reports, Sergeant.'

'Yes my lord.'

'I'd also like you to keep an eye on the three we've talked about. They sound like the most interesting of the lot.'

'I'm going to put the pressure up. I need to see how much it takes to make them crack. I want to see if they can make it.'

'It's your call, Master Sergeant. You have authority over the course. I'm not going to micromanage you.'

'Thank you my lord. Is there anything else?'

'No. Dismissed, Sergeant.'

'Yes sir!'

Kodos saluted once more, then he left the office. As the door closed behind him, another Thunderhawk rumbled past. With a sigh, Lakon returned to his paperwork.

'No – really. That's not how you dig it.'

'So you're the expert, are you?' Cadet Fegust was glaring angrily at Alaster. He leaned belligerently on his spade.

'Look, it's pointed toward-' Alaster was just about to point out that digging the latrine uphill from their drinking water supply was a bad idea. Unfortunately, Sergeant Kodos got there first.

As if on cue, a shadow fell on the ground beside Alaster. A deep, intimidating voice roared, 'What the skak do you call this?'

Before the last week, Alaster had never imagined that Astartes warriors could be stealthy. How weak his imagination had been! The sergeant had an amazing ability to appear exactly at the worst possible moment. His arrival would be sudden and verbally-deadly, bringing in an orbital bombardment of sarcastic mockery. You never saw him coming but you heard him once he arrived.

'It's a latrine, sergeant,' Cadet Fegust announced proudly. He was standing over the pit his section had begun digging, a few minutes before.

'No it's not – it's a hole in the ground.'

'Sergeant?'

'If you pee in that, what do you think will happen, Cadet?'

'Uh, nothing, Sergeant?' Fegust looked uneasy.

'Nothing, he says. I'll give you a hint. The stream is down there.' Kodos pointed to their left.

'Uh, I know. Sergeant.'

'Then why are you digging this here? Do you want your skak to get into your drinking water? That's what it'll do, you know.'

Fegust started to go red. The embarrassment spread across his face as he realised his error.

'I suspect,' Kodos continued, 'that Cadet Karo here might have been about to tell you that – if you'd listened.'

Alaster tried to look alert and attentive. Fegust said nothing but glowered.

'Since you apparently have better sense, Karo, I suggest you dig the latrine instead.' With a sardonic smile, Kodos wrestled the spade out of Fegust's hands and passed it to Alaster. To Fegust, he said, 'You go and sit there.' He pointed to a tree.

Envious, Alaster noted it was shady below the tree.

A few minutes later, Alaster was digging in a more suitable location. It was another hot day at the camp. Alaster was continually waving away buzzing flies. The work was hard and his arms ached. He was still tired from the night before – they weren't enough sleep. Last night, Kodos had decided to interrupt their night for an impromptu run. Then, barely an hour after the exhausted cadets had staggered back to camp, he'd done it again. Alaster reckoned he hadn't had more than two hours' sleep. And to top it off, this morning they'd discovered an infestation of flies in the previous latrine. Someone had forgotten to cover their leavings with the nearby heap of soil. It was astonishing how fast the flies had appeared.

He was breathing heavily. Underneath the uniform-smock he'd been issued with, he could feel sweat dribbling down his chest. Glancing down he noticed stains behind the knees of his grey trousers. The fabric was neither comfortable nor breathable. The uniform seemed solely designed to increase the misery of its wearer. It hadn't even been in Alaster's size when it was issued; he'd had to take it in with a scrounged needle and thread.

Alaster was almost done when Nasty appeared. 'Where's Fegust? I thought it was his turn to dig the hole?'

'He's under the tree. Sat down.' Alaster heaved another load of soil with tired bitterness.

'Kodos keeps doing that,' Nasty commented. It was true; when someone skakked up, the sergeant tended to give their punishment to the person next to them. One of the other cadets had complained about it – as a result, Nasty had been sent to fetch water.

Alaster glared at the distant figure sat below the tree. Fegust had fallen asleep! 'Perhaps we should scrag him,' he suggested.

Nasty gave the distant figure a calculating glance. 'There's an idea…'

With a grunt of effort Alaster cleared the final shovel full. He looked at his handiwork – a trench one foot wide by four deep. A neat heap of soil sat next to it – hopefully no-one would forget to cover their leavings this time.

'Come on – I need a drink. And the shovel needs to go back.'

Alaster and Nasty walked back to the stream. Propping the shovel against a tree, Alaster drank deep. The water was refreshingly cold. To try and wake up, he splashed some over his face.

'Another one's gone,' Nasty commented.

'What?' Alaster looked up. Nasty was scanning the camp.

'Someone else has left. I only saw two come out of Sendrer's tent.'

'Great. Another night-time vanishing.' People had a disturbing habit of choosing the middle of the night to drop out. Alaster had wondered at first whether something more sinister was going on – until he discovered that it was just when the supply Rhinos made their drop-offs. It seemed the Chapter wasn't prepared to lay on an extra daytime one just to bus out failed aspirants. 'Do you think we'll hear anything from Kodos?'

'No – he doesn't talk about it.'

Patreus joined them, reappearing from his latest prayer break. He did it a lot – at least five times a day. He also seemed pretty rigid about the times. Once at dawn, once at sunset and briefly before every meal. Alaster suspected there might be issues with the sergeant at some point – it hadn't yet got in the way, but what would happen if it did?

'Nice trench,' Patreus remarked to Alaster. 'I saw you digging. And Fegust under the tree again. That's twice just today.'

'Thanks. You don't seem very surprised.'

'It's how we did things with new novices, at the monastery. Some people won't listen to authority – but they will listen to a beating from their mates.'

'Lovely.'

'It's necessary.' Patreus shrugged. Authority seemed to be an ends in of itself for him. 'They have to learn the rules. Punish the person next to you and they'll make sure you never forget.'

'Calculated sadism, more like,' Nasty said. 'This is skaky so far. When are they going to let us at the guns?'

'They'll do it when we're ready.' As ever, Patreus trusted the marines implicitly. 'Talking of which, Alaster, I think we should show you some more moves…'

Patreus and Nasty had been making good on their promise to teach Alaster to fight. So far all he had to show for it was a lot of bruises. He was trying to focus – Alaster realised it was important. Whoever heard of a non-violent marine? However, he had to admit he wasn't enjoying the experience.

Some time and several fresh bruises later, Alaster was relieved to hear the assembly bell ring. It had been set up next to Kodos's tent, the one previously used by the librarian. The bell was rung when the sergeant wanted to speak to – or berate – the aspirants. Punctuality was expected.

'Oh – time's up!' Alaster said, just ducking past Nasty's last swing. The cadets trooped over and took their place in the assembled double-line. The lines, Alaster noted, had got a lot tidier since the first day. He supposed it was progress of a sort, even if it did seem singularly useless.

Kodos emerged from the tent. Hands on hips, he surveyed the aspirants. 'All right, runts, here's what we're doing today. We're going on a little trip. Your first off-world deployment.'

Alaster stared.

Kodos, as ever, noticed. 'What, Cadet?'

'Sergeant – I just finished digging!'

'Good. So you'll be quick about a new latrine at our new camp, then. The Rhinos will be here in thirty minutes. I want all of you back here and ready by then. In the meantime you're to clear up your skak. I want the tents taken down and stowed. Now move!'

The aspirants were starting to get the idea of organisation. Thirty minutes to break camp would have been a nightmare otherwise. As it was it was merely very difficult. Two sections got delegated to do the carrying, four more to bundle up all the tents and the remainder to do the actual taking-down. They still only barely managed Kodos's deadline.

With two minutes to spare, the aspirants gathered in the clearing. Alaster could hear engines in the distance – the promised Rhinos, he suspected.

Nasty was looking around with a cynical expression. 'So all of that camping stuff was pointless,' he remarked.

Patreus, as ever, looked shocked. 'It was doubtless to teach us vital skills!'

'If you come out with a line like that again, I'll hit you.' Nasty leered threateningly.

'Okay you two, better wind it up,' Alaster said. 'Here comes Kodos.' He pointed. The sergeant was approaching the aspirants. Even as he did, the first of the Rhinos rolled into the campsite. Within a few seconds, several of the box-like transports were lined up next to each other, engines rumbling quietly. Their tracks were stained with churned up soil and Alaster could smell the exhaust fumes. Briefly he wondered what they ran on – probably whatever was available, he supposed.

Kodos quickly assigned the sections to their respective Rhinos. Alaster found himself sat awkwardly at the end of a metal bench, in the closet-like confines of the vehicle. It felt crowded just with nine aspirants.

Nasty was jammed in between Alaster and Patreus. He looked irritated. 'How do they fit Space Marines in these things? There's barely enough skakking room for us!'

'Maybe they sit on each other's laps,' Alaster suggested.

'I'm sure they stand,' Patreus offered piously.

'Patreus – we weren't being entirely serious,' Alaster pointed out.

'Maybe geneseed stops you sitting down, as well,' Nasty offered with cynicism.

'So,' Alaster said, 'where do you think we're going?'

'Another planet,' Patreus said. 'Kodos said off-world.'

'He means which one,' Nasty put in. 'There're a lot of them about, you know.'

While Nasty and Patreus bantered, Alaster shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position. After a few minutes, he gave up. He found that if he leaned forward and hugged his knees, it minimised the pressure on his backside. That was good as the seat was hard. The side of the Rhino behind it wasn't so good to lean on, either. Alaster suspected he would be sore by the end of the ride.

The journey was boring. The Rhino jolted into life and drove off. There were no windows to look out of and nothing to do. The only sounds were the quiet hiss of the air vents and the rumble of the engine. Very occasionally, they would hear a stone being spat out by the treads.

It didn't take the tiredness long to catch up with Alaster. He fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5 On The Ship

'Wow,' breathed Patreus, hands plastered against the porthole.

Blue with white clouds and the occasional greenish splash of land, Delta Octalis was visible beyond the circular window. The planet was bright against the inky backdrop of space. The Moon was visible, in half-phase like the planet. Bright specks lit its dark side – the domed cities of the lunar settlements. The view was amazing and crystal-clear. Until arriving in space, none of them had realised just how much the atmosphere dulled the night sky. The stars were sharp, fiery points. Their light was cold and steady. The view was awe-inspiring – almost as amazing as the vessel they were aboard. Alaster was torn between staring out of the porthole and staring around him.

The aspirants had just boarded the transport ship, straight from the Thunderhawk docked below. The entire journey, from the camp to the spaceport and then into orbit, had taken just over seven hours. Apart from a sore shoulder, where he had leaned on it too long, Alaster felt wonderful. For the first time in over a week, he had slept adequately!

The ship was a Chapter troop transporter. It was a proper starship, capable of Warp jumps, although this trip would be real-space only. Its exterior was painted proudly in the Chapter livery – blue-black with grey and mid-blue detailing. The Chapter insignia was prominently displayed on the ship's prow. The incoming Thunderhawk got a good view of it.

The cadets had been given a brief tour, showing them the mess hall, the showers and lavatories and their cabins. They were bunked a section to a cabin. The rooms were small and dominated entirely by the three-tier bunkbeds. Alaster had been surprised to find the beds were built for Space Marines rather than normal humans, so ironically the beds themselves seemed large. He suspected they might not be so big to a marine.

The ship's interior was utilitarian, all greys and whites and plastics and metals. Surfaces were marked with various notices and corners and doorways were marked with black and yellow hazard strips. Alaster understood those were a precaution in case of the artificial gravity failing, as were the hand-loops set in their rows down the ceilings and walls. All the corridors ended and started with airtight doors – the ship was built to be robust against decompression. It was also filled with sound, from the idling low growl of the engines, the hum of the ventilation, and occasional rumbling noises from the pipework to other, less identifiable sounds. The air smelt dry, with a metallic undertone. The decking was hard under foot.

Kodos had ordered them to a meeting in the mess hall at 1800 ship time. In the meantime, they'd been let loose, with the restriction that they couldn't enter any room with a red hatch. That had turned out to be most of them. All of the interesting ones like the bridge and the engineering section, had red on their hatches.

Nasty was staring out of the window too. Uncharacteristically, he looked awestruck as well. Alaster had to acknowledge that his homeworld did look impressive.

He glanced at the clock mounted in the wall nearby. 'We'd better move,' he said. 'It's nearly 1800.'

'Screw Kodos,' Nasty said, staring outside. Bluish light played on his face.

'You can screw him if you want,' Alaster said, 'but you're risking your own hide if you do!'

Patreus reluctantly pulled himself away from the porthole. 'Orders are orders, I suppose,' he mused. He and Alaster walked toward the end of the corridor; Nasty followed a few moments later.

They found their way to the mess hall shortly, just in time to grab a table near the back. The large room was half-filled with chattering aspirants. The noise drowned out the air vents overhead.

There was a stage up the front, with a lectern in the middle. Kodos marched out onto it, boots clicking on the decking. He walked to the lectern and thumbed something. A holoscreen flickered into life above and behind him.

'All right you runts, attention!' His bark was amplified by the sound system; Alaster twitched. The chatter in the room fell off into attentive silence. 'This is where we're going.' Kodos pointed and the screen changed to a planet.

It was an ochre and grey disk with a few clouds, here and there. On closer inspection, Alaster noted it had two blue seas, both positioned over the respective polar circles. Greenish vegetation extended some way out from both polar seas. It was a familiar planet – Gamma Octalis, the system's third world and also one of its three human-inhabitable planets. Alaster's lip curled in distaste; his task at the Administratum had been filing agricultural reports on Gamma's somewhat-inadequate cereal crop yields.

'Gamma Octalis,' the sergeant confirmed. 'The transfer orbit will take six days – we're not risking a Warp jump for the likes of you. We'll take a Thunderhawk down to Gamma Secundus-' Kodos pointed out the city's location, in the north polar circle '-but we won't be staying there. It's a soft place! Your runts look like you need toughening up.

'Something for you to bear in mind. Landing day is your last chance to walk away. If you admit you're not good enough before we land, let me know. Since we've got this ship going back to Delta, we'll even fly you home. After that, when you fail you'll either be dead or a Chapter serf. You should have some dim glimmering of what that'll be like by now – so give it some thought.

'Our destination is here.' Kodos pointed south. Alaster stared – he was pointing right into the desert! His finger was only twenty degrees above the equator. 'Rare River, this area's called. It's a river every other decade, when it rains down there.' The screen zoomed in. An ochre wasteland swum into view, with bleached, bone-like mountains and dusty valleys. Between the ranges snaked the dry bed of an empty river. It flared out into a delta, leading onto a lakebed. The lake appeared empty except for dust. No clouds or vegetation appeared to block the view. 'I gather when it does rain, it washes straight off the mountains. The beds flood. That's where Rare River comes from. Anyway, it's lovely there at this time of year – you'll like it. The humidity's ten percent and it's forty degrees in the shade. But don't worry – it's nice and cold at night. Minus five would be about right. A classic desert. Oh, and this close to the Sun you'll get sun-burn in eleven minutes, if you go out without a hat.' Kodos smiled. A sadistic light glinted in his single organic eye. 'You've had it easy up till now – lots of food, loads of water, no nasty predators. That changes when we get to Gamma.

'Your first exercise'll be escape and evasion. You'll be in two teams – hunters and prey. The prey's objective is staying free. The hunters' is catching the prey. If you're prey, and you get caught, you're on bread and water until I say otherwise. If you're a hunter and you don't catch anyone, you get bread and water too. We'll allocate teams when we arrive. In the meantime – what, Cadet?'

Someone had stuck their hand up.

'Do we get camouflage, sergeant?' It was Sandrer. He fingered his uniform tunic.

Kodos rapped his knuckles on his breastplate. 'I don't get camo, so I don't see why you should. What's so special about you? Stupidity aside, I mean.'

'But we'll just stand out. Isn't that – isn't that self-defeating?'

'Well, now there's a question. All right, Cadet Sandrer, you've hit on something. Accidentally, I think, but you've got a point all the same.' Kodos swept his eyes around the room, glaring at all the aspirants collectively. 'Go on then. A question for your accumulated intelligence – such as it is. Why don't we use camouflage?' He folded his arms across his chest and stared belligerently at the audience.

Patreus stuck his hand up.

'What, Cadet?'

'Because Space Marines feel no fear and don't need to hide. Sergeant.'

Kodos looked irritated. 'That's the textbook answer, Cadet. It's also Ork-skak.'

Patreus looked confused.

'You see,' Kodos explained, 'I don't fear the enemy. Nor do any of my brothers. Our only interest in the enemy is killing him. I don't care what he, or she, or it thinks. His, her or its personal opinion – I don't care. I don't mind if they fear me – good, they should! But I don't care if they don't. I had to punch out a Khornate berserker once – and believe me, fear was the last thing on that maniac's mind.'

Like the other aspirants, Alaster breathed in at the mention of Chaos. The brazen way that Kodos named that abomination! Alaster shivered. These were things people only whispered of, if they talked at all. Chaos was known only as a vague threat, the evil the Ecclesiarchy warned congregations of every Septday, urging the faithful to vigilance. It was universally agreed the sole alternative to the Emperor's light was the path of damnation – and to speak of such things so brazenly could only invite trouble!

Alaster noted in passing that Nasty looked more cynical than normal.

Kodos observed the audience's reaction. He looked on in amused contempt. 'Ravens fight Chaos – often. Traitors are the original sin of the Astartes. If we meet them it is our holy duty to destroy them. If even the names scare you that much, though – well, better check out before we land on Gamma.

'Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, camouflage. Fear really has nothing to do with it. Fear just isn't relevant to us. Perhaps you'd care to try again, Cadet Patreus?'

The passing references to Chaos had stunned Patreus. His eyes were wide. He was gripping a rosary that he had produced from somewhere. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and his face was creased with horrified revulsion. He was mumbling a prayer.

'Cadet? Are you listening?' There was menace in Kodos's voice.

'I – yes, Sergeant. I was just praying for our souls.'

'Well right now I want you to answer my question. If not fear, then why not camouflage? If it's apparently so useful, why don't we? We are, after all, the Imperium's best warriors. We do whatever's necessary to win – so why do we step back from this?'

'I – uh, you want an operational reason, Sergeant?'

Kodos rolled his eyes. He sighed with evident annoyance. 'An operational reason – a man who spends his life planning military operations might want an operational reason! What a revelation that is! Yes, of skakking course I skakking want a skakking operational reason, Cadet!'

'I – I don't know, Sergeant.' Patreus still looked addled. Alaster felt worried – he hadn't liked hearing the big-C-word, but if even a mere mention could put Patreus in a state like this… Alaster tried to picture Patreus as a mighty Space Marine, facing down the Chaotic hordes. He tried hard. Unfortunately, his imagination failed. He could picture Patreus gibbering at them, paralysed by his own loathing, but it wasn't quite the same.

Kodos had unfolded his arms. He was drumming fingers on the lectern. The hollow thuds echoed quietly in the mess hall. 'Okay. I guess I have to spell it out.

'None of you've fought an alien.'

Alaster was looking at Patreus as Kodos spoke. To his surprise, Patreus's face creased in anger. His eyebrows twitched. The aspirant clenched his fists. He looked ready to punch something. This was not good – it seemed both the big-C and xenos were subjects you couldn't mention around Patreus. This could make life difficult!

Kodos was continuing, 'The galaxy is filled with all sorts of foul abominations. They all plague us. Many plot to steal the worlds of the Emperor's chosen people. We don't tolerate these outrages; the Astartes will always be at the front of Humanity's defence. So, we fight these monsters.

'However, the foulness of these monsters knows no bounds. Some have senses approximating to ours – Orks and the Eldar can be said to see and hear, smell and touch. Doubtless the precise impressions they receive, the breadth and intensity of the sensations, are distinct from our own holy eyes and ears. However, their senses are recognisable, to a point. Many species are different. On Accantis my squad and I fought the so-called Nematodian Masses. These things were somewhere between a worm and a slug, but four metres long. And one that has extendible pseudopods – they can balloon into any appendage the foul thing wishes. With an exception. They had nothing, that we could spot, resembling eyes.'

'That sounds really stupid,' Patreus said.

Kodos shrugged. 'Not to them, I imagine. Their sun flares a lot, so they live underground. They only come to the surface at night. They don't need eyes where they live. They never thought of them. They are truly blind. They don't have ears, either, or a recognisable nose. And during our first fight with them, they slew three Ravens in six minutes.

'Their lack of sight didn't hinder them. Whatever senses they used, I don't think camo would've helped.

'The same goes for creatures that see in the infra-red or the ultraviolet. Sure, you might have a nice paintjob on your suit to human eyes – but if the eyes aren't human, all the bets are off. In that case you have the worst of all worlds – you think you're concealed but you're not.

'Then there's recognition. Creating a Space Marine is a tough job. The last thing we want is you all boltering each other up the skak-hole by accident, just because you didn't realise there was someone in the bushes.

'Then there're things with Warp-spawned powers. Camo really doesn't matter to them. You deal with them by putting a bolt in their face, not by hiding in a bush.

'And then there's the final thing. I want all of you to close your eyes and count to five. And that's an order.'

Alaster was baffled. However, he did what he was told. On five, he opened his eyes. Kodos had disappeared! Alaster stared at the stage, wondering where he'd gone. He looked around and couldn't see the sergeant anywhere. A confused mumble arose from the aspirants. No-one had any idea where the sergeant had gone.

'Look up.'

The voice came from above. It dripped with sarcasm. There was also smugness. As if with a will of their own, Alaster's eyes tracked upwards.

Kodos was lying on the ceiling.

It took Alaster's brain a second to catch up with what he was seeing. There were structural beams running across the ceiling, under the deck above. Kodos had jumped up and braced himself between two of them. There was just enough room with his legs and arms outstretched. He looked like he was lying on his back. His metallic eye glittered with cold amusement.

'If I hadn't told you,' the sergeant said, 'where to look, you wouldn't have spotted me.' He tensed his legs and swung his feet out. He hung for a moment, from one beam, gripping it with both hands. Then he dropped.

He landed neatly, bending his legs. Neat but not gentle - the floor shook under him. Kodos was now stood amongst the aspirants. They backed away into a respectful circle.

'The key to stealth,' Kodos explained, 'is the holes in your enemy's sight. You just assumed I couldn't possibly be above, so you didn't look. The colour of my armour didn't matter - it could've been day-glow orange and you wouldn't have noticed. Fortunately our chapter has taste so we're spared that horror – but the point stands. A Space Marine cannot be oblivious like a normal man. Not paying attention means death. I could have sniped you all from up there – by the time you'd work it out, BANG! Too late.

'So you won't be getting camouflage on Gamma. Now, in the meantime, you're going to be busy…'

The sergeant wasn't lying. The pace picked up during the six-day voyage. Alaster had thought things tough at the camp on Delta; they got tougher. There was never an idle moment or a second of vacant time. The closest they got to it was morning prayers in the transport's chapel.

Alaster, although no atheist, had not been strongly religious in the past. Nonetheless he came to welcome the twenty minutes of every morning spent in the chapel. The marines took their worship seriously. It was the sole portion of the day not subject to constant hassle and stress. It was also the one portion of the day without the restrictions of military hierarchy. The marines believed they were spiritually equal before the Emperor; no brother had any intrinsic privilege above any other. The only honours they received were those they earned with blood. Due to this principle everyone onboard, whether marine, Chapter serf or aspirant, worshipped together. Kneeling amongst the pews and staring at the stained-glass behind the altar gave Alaster an unexpected sense of peace.

Nasty, to Alaster's immense surprise, claimed to like the daily services too. Apparently in his case it was because they spent most of the time sat down.

Alaster had to admit Nasty had a point, even if it was cynical. Sitting down was not a feature of the rest of their days. Their first afternoon aboard the ship proved tiring. Kodos had decided it was time that the aspirants were introduced to guns.

Alaster was not entirely surprised to discover that the transport had a firing range on board. It had room for about half the aspirants at once – the rest had been sent off to clean some of the corridors. Alaster understood that in a few hours, there would be a switchover with his lot would be swapping goggles and ear-defenders for mops and buckets as well. The ship, it seemed, had a lot of corridors.

Kodos had said nothing about the recruits' pre-existing abilities as marksmen. Instead, he'd put his helmet on. It seemed he wasn't confident. Hearing Kodos's familiar voice emerge from behind the impersonal ceramite scowl seemed weird.

For his part, Alaster's gaze was focused on the thing in his hands. He was stood in front of a firing aisle with a holographic target in the distance, a greenish man-shaped outline. In Alaster's hands he was holding an actual bolt pistol. It was big and heavy. The grip seemed too large for Alaster's hand. Kodos had assured them these guns were scaled specifically for normal humans – this was the sort of thing a Chapter serf might be issued with, on a dangerous assignment. If this was the human version, Alaster wondered what the Astartes edition was like.

The pistol's muzzle and the magazine were satin grey, gleaming where oil had been smeared on it. The casing was the standard Ravens blue-black. On the side it had an embossed Imperial eagle. It smelt slightly, of grease and woodsmoke. It was deadly – of that Alaster had no doubt.

'We'll take the best of five,' Kodos's amplified voice informed the aspirants. 'The cogitator will track your shots. This time, the rounds aren't live – but that's the last time we'll do that. Next time, it'll be one in five, then one in four and so on. So if you absolutely have to hit anyone else, then try and get it over today. That said, even a dummy bolt'll hurt, so let's get this right first time, okay?

'See those targets? At the end of your lanes? I want you to shoot them. I'll give you ten minutes on my mark. That's ten minutes to fire five bolts – that's ages. This once, take your time. The cogitator will track your accuracy – your records say some of you already have gun experience. I want to test that and see where the rest of you are.

'Okay. Raise your pistols.'

The aspirants raised their pistols. Alaster was sure he was holding the thing wrong. He had no idea what he was doing. He felt foolish. It was one thing seeing other people with weapons but entirely different when it was yourself. Alaster had to admit he was nervous of the thing in his hands. It was utilitarian and deadly – completely unlike himself. He didn't know what it could do, but he feared it might show him what he couldn't.

He wondered if he could really kill someone with this. Could he really put a weapon in an enemy's face? Could he really –

'Okay.' Kodos's voice cut across his introspection. 'Sight down your weapons. Fire on my mark.'

Alaster raised the heavy pistol. Awkwardly, he peered down it.

'One. Two. Mark.'

He pulled the trigger. The room echoed with the roar of bolt pistols. Rounds slammed through holograms. There were pings as they smacked into the ceramite-plated bulkheads beyond.

Alaster sensed nothing from his own pistol. No smoke, no recoil. He stared at it, baffled. What was wrong? He didn't understand. He felt panicky. Why wasn't this working? He swallowed.

A large hand in a blue-black gauntlet reached over Alaster's shoulder. The hand moved a slider on the side of the pistol.

'That's the safety, Cadet,' he heard Kodos tell him. 'You take it off. Then you shoot.'

Alaster felt his ears burning. How embarrassing! At this moment, he had never felt further from being a Space Marine. Kodos stepped back.

'That goes for all of you,' Alaster heard him say. 'About half of you forgot the safety. Of the rest of you – only three of you actually hit a target. But you've still got eight minutes and ten seconds. Let's go again.'

This time Alaster managed to fire his bolt pistol. He immediately regretted it. The pistol roared. It hammered back into his hand. It hurt. Startled, he took a step back.

The bolt went wild. Alaster caught a glimpse of sparks above the hologram – it had hit the ceiling.

As the sound died, wisps of smoke curled in the air throughout the firing range. The smell of woodsmoke was stronger now.

'Well,' he heard Kodos say, 'at least you all managed to fire this time. That's technically progress, I suppose. Let's have a look at your figures.' The marine went quiet for a moment. Alaster supposed he was looking at some figure projected inside his helmet. 'Well, there's a surprise. Cadet Shepherd – where did you get a bolt pistol from?'

For a moment, Alaster was confused. Hadn't the sergeant just handed the things out?

Nasty understood the real question. 'The gang I was in, Sergeant. We took some from another gang. I guess they'd nicked some from a depot or something.'

'When was this?'

'When I was nine, Sergeant.'

'Did you have it when you killed all those men?'

'For part of the fight, Sergeant. They got it off me after I'd killed five of them. I had to use fists for the rest of the skakkers.'

'This is why an Astartes warrior never loses his weapon, Cadet. But your pistol practise shows. You've fired two bolts and they've both hit the target. None of the rest of you managed that. All right, we shoot again on my mark…'

Alaster did manage to get off all the shots, as ordered. He just barely managed it in the time allowed. He didn't hit the target once. The palm of his hand ached and his wrist felt sore. He felt discouraged.

Kodos didn't spare him. As if summoned, the sergeant appeared beside Alaster. 'Cadet Karo. Your performance was particularly bad. Show me what you were doing.'

Everyone was looking at him. The humiliation was incredible. For a brief moment, Alaster wanted to turn the pistol on the sergeant. Then common sense prevailed. The sergeant had his plasma pistol. Alaster doubted Kodos had any issues with aiming or shooting.

Reluctant, Alaster managed to fire off another round at the target. He almost flinched from the recoil, in anticipation of the jerk. The bolt pistol cracked as the round vanished off into the distance.

'Okay,' he heard Kodos say. To his surprise, the man didn't sound angry! 'Take the gun into your other hand – put the safety on first! Now, hold it by the barrel.'

Confused, Alaster did what he was told.

'Take your firing hand and make a V with your thumb and forefinger.'

Still puzzled, Alaster did so.

'Slide the weapon into the V. Line up the sights with your arm. Wrap the lower three fingers around the grip.'

Alaster did as he was told. He was holding the bolt pistol in the firing hand now. He could feel the grip, pressing against his palm.

'I want you to tighten your hand. Grasp it as hard as you can. Harder! Keep going! Harder than that!'

Alaster had tightened his hand as much as he could. It started shaking.

'Okay, relax a little. Grip it just loosely enough that it doesn't shake – but no looser. Yes, that's looking better. Now, put your trigger finger – yes, that one! – into the trigger. Rest the finger between the tip and the second joint. See – you get a much better feeling that way.

'Now, I want you to sight on the target. Then I want you to close your eyes.'

Alaster just felt confused. The gun felt better in his hand – but what was the point of this? He raised the weapon, sighted and shut his eyes.

'Okay, you can open them now,' Kodos told him after a few seconds. 'Is the weapon still aligned?'

'Yes, Sergeant.'

'We must be near your natural aim, then. Make sure the front blade is in line with the rear notch – is it?'

'Yes, Sergeant.' The two markers on the pistol were lined up with the target. Alaster wondered when he'd get to shoot again. This seemed to be more complicated than point and click.

'Okay. Now we need to sort the breathing. You can knock your gun off if you exhale at the wrong time. That's what some of you have been doing. So, Karo, I want you to inhale. Then I want you to let the breath out.'

Alaster obeyed.

'Now, breathe in. Exhale a little, then hold – exhale just enough that you're comfortable.'

Alaster had to do it a couple of times.

'Slide the safety off.'

_Click_.

'Fire.'

The pistol roared. This time, the recoil was manageable. Alaster watched in astonishment as the bolt actually penetrated the hologram!

'That's better,' Kodos said. 'But you still only got the target's arm. Next we need to work on your trigger squeeze.'

The afternoon continued in that manner.

The weapons-training was intensive. Sessions became a daily occurrence. The cadets spent much of the rest of their time running laps of the corridors and climbing and descending ladders and access tubes. The exercise was tiring. Kodos kept them at it until someone collapsed. On the second day, an aspirant tried falling over early as a deliberate ploy. It looked convincing to Alaster but Kodos wasn't fooled. He informed the aspirants that standing orders required their maximum effort. He also took pains to point out that under Chapter law, disobedience was a major offence. 'I've seen men hanged for less,' he remarked ominously. Kodos then informed the fake-faller that he had failed his training; the shocked-looking ex-aspirant was led away by two Chapter serfs. He was not seen again.

There was more to the training then merely weapons and running, though. To Alaster's surprise, the aspirants were to attend regular classroom sessions on the Chapter's history. These were taken by no less a figure other then the company chaplain himself. Chaplain Felack was such an eminent figure that even Kodos seemed to have ungrudging respect for him. Watching Kodos be polite to someone was an education in of itself.

Felack also led the daily services. He insisted that anyone with 'spiritual concerns' was to come and talk to him as early as possible. To Alaster's immense surprise, Kodos reinforced the order. It seemed a bit touchy-feely, but apparently the sergeant disagreed. 'Do as the Chaplain says,' the sergeant had said. 'And that's an order.'

It puzzled Alaster for a while. The marines didn't seem overly bothered about the recruits' physical health. Their training exercises didn't seem to suffer with an overabundance of health and safety precautions. Apparently, however, the condition of the soul was critical.

On the third day, while they were mopping another set of corridors, Alaster found himself mentioning it to Patreus.

'…It doesn't make sense,' he was saying. 'You'd think they'd be more worried about keeping us intact! I mean, they can't really make soldiers out of injured bodies, can they?'

Nasty was cynical. He was sporting a large bruise from an accident late yesterday. While sprinting down a corridor he had slipped and fell, banging his head on a panel. Kodos had taken one look at him and had told him to get up and stop whinging. 'We're cattle to them,' he said.

Patreus, mopping vigorously, ignored him. 'It does make sense, Alaster. You just have to believe in the afterlife – I mean, definitely. Without doubt.'

'Don't most people?'

'Not really. At least, not on an emotional level. It's something ordinary people struggle with, I guess. It's too easy for faith to get lost, you know, amongst the rubbish of day-to-day life. The secular world has too many distractions.'

Nasty interjected, 'And I suppose your monastery was different?'

Patreus scowled. He scrubbed the mop-head hard against the floor. It squeaked. Water leaked out, releasing a weak scent of detergent. 'Not as much as it should have been.' He pushed the mop again. 'The point is, the Astartes aren't poisoned by doubt. It's service at it's purest. What they do, the risks they take every day – I guess it focuses the mind. They know there's an afterlife. They know we all must face the Emperor's judgement. What is a little suffering now, against eternal damnation?'

'If you feel that way, you might as well just run a torture chamber.' Alaster was scrubbing the wall next to Alaster. It hadn't been done in a while. His cloth was grey already. 'It sounds completely nihilistic. I mean, if suffering is always good-'

'No, it isn't like that. Just hurting people for kicks would be wrong. Inflicting suffering on people is only justified if it helps them – improves them. Or to protect others. The Church is quite clear on this.'

'How does this – this pointless labour count as improving?'

Patreus shrugged. 'Exercise and discipline, I suppose.'

Nasty said, 'You're very trusting. I think they're just sadists.'

'No they're not. Have you been paying any attention?'

'To what?'

'Like that knife Kodos carries around. Suppose he was actually out to hurt you, just for pain's own sake. I reckon you'd be bleeding by now. There wouldn't be much you could do to stop him.'

They fell quiet for a minute as they digested Patreus's comment. Alaster scrubbed. Trying to change the subject, he said, 'So how are you all for tomorrow's test?'

Nasty groaned. The test had been Felack's bombshell at the morning service. He had been telling them tales of the Chapter's history in his lessons. Tomorrow they were to be tested on it. Anyone who failed there would also fail their training. Alaster had noticed Nasty jerk awake at that point, looking momentarily scared.

'I can't remember a thing,' Nasty said quietly.

Alaster put down his cloth. 'What happens if you fail?'

Nasty hesitated. 'They hand me back to the magistrates.'

'After that?' Patreus looked puzzled.

'Well I hang, don't I? I'm a convicted murderer – I only hadn't been sentenced, before they brought me here.'

Alaster took a guess. 'You've been offered a pardon, haven't you? If you become a Raven?'

Nasty nodded. 'Yeah. Supposedly the Raven Lord can do that.'

'He is technically Octalis's Lord Governor,' Alaster mused. 'That was what all the forms always said, at the office. "In the Name of the Lord Governor, to whom we the State and People of Octalis owe fealty as the Representative of the Emperor, let it be Enacted that…" and so on.'

Nasty curled his lips in distaste. 'I never liked legal skak. But it don't matter – I'm dead anyway.'

'No you're not,' Patreus said. 'Look, it's all quite simple. Tell me when the Storm Ravens were founded.'

'I don't know!'

'Millennium Thirty-six,' Alaster put in. 'It was after the fall of Lord Vandire. Part of the general reorganisation.'

'And the fleet?' Patreus prompted Nasty.

'The fleet? But that was normal people who did that!'

'Yes – see, you do know something!'

'The Octalian Purge,' Alaster explained, 'was what earned Delta a chapter. Can you remember why it was done?'

Nasty frowned in concentration. 'Something to do with xenos?'

Patreus nodded. 'After a Dark Eldar raid. On Octalis itself. It outraged everyone. Our people paid for and built a fleet.'

'We took them on,' Alaster continued for him, 'one single little planet, all by itself. We took the skakkers on and we won.'

'And we didn't stop there,' Patreus added. 'We took the fleet across the Sector. We purged it of xeno filth. We purged it of heresy and traitors. We brought abandoned worlds back to the Imperial fold. And wherever our people went, we rebuilt.'

'Cities, factories, roads,' Alaster added. 'The Octalian Sector was transformed. Before, we were one of the poorest in the segmentum. Afterward we became one of the richest. Thanks to the Purge, we had nearly a century of peace. Tax revenues tripled in a decade; the Administratum loved us. The Purge actually paid for itself, over time.'

'One world – against an entire sector,' Patreus continued. 'A bold example of what Humanity can do. The Imperium needed a chapter somewhere near here, after the damage Vandire did. Octalis was the only candidate.'

Nasty was still frowning. 'Wasn't it – I think Felacktold us there was argument over it.'

'Yes,' Alaster said. 'Delta's an urban world. Some people didn't like that – didn't fit their preconceptions. But it's hardly unknown – I mean, look at Macragge and Ultramar.'

'Didn't they,' Nasty said with sudden focus, 'abandon us?'

Patreus frowned. 'Felackwasn't clear about that, was he? I don't think the Ultramarines abandoned the Storm Ravens, as such.'

'The way I heard it, they were training the chapter at first,' Alaster said. 'But it didn't really work out. I guess we're just too far away here, or something. Because the Ravens had Ultramarine geneseed, I guess everyone assumed it would be fine.'

Patreus nodded as he mopped. 'Things don't always work out. Anyway, after the Ultramarines moved out the Ravens were trained by the Raven Guard and the Space Wolves.'

'Isn't that weird?' asked Nasty.

'I don't think marines do "normal",' Alaster said. 'And it was a busy time – no chapter could spare an entire complement. Bits from two was a way forward.'

'And the Ravens haven't suffered for it,' Patreus added, 'although it does mean some deviations from the Codex.'

'Deviations?' Nasty stared. 'From what Felackwas saying – it doesn't look like a Raven would use the Codex to wipe his arse!'

'If they actually need to do that,' Alaster said.

'He said the Chapter doesn't have a scout company.'

'No, that isn't true,' Patreus corrected. 'It does but they're all veterans – like the Space Wolves. The Tenth Company double as tactical marines if they're called to. They can do more stuff that way. And they're powerful warriors.'

' "Reconnaissance is too important for the untested",' Alaster quoted.

Nasty pulled a face. 'I must've been asleep then.' Patreus made a choking noise. 'So just what do new marines do? Sit around moping because they're not elite enough?'

Patreus looked pained. 'You really weren't listening, were you? New recruits are always assault troops. "Every Raven knows how it feels to jump into the foe", that's what Felacksaid.'

'New warriors serve a term as assault marines, then they can specialise afterwards,' Alaster clarified. 'Kind of like Space Wolf Bloodclaws, only with a bit of Raven Guard as well. Close combat with high mobility – that's how new Storm Ravens prove their courage.'

'By landing on the enemy's head and hitting him with sticks?'

'Sort of. Close enough, I suppose.'

'So where does the Codex come into this? If we're just copying everything off the Space Wolves-'

'But they don't,' Patreus cut in. 'The jump packs and the landspeeders and all that are Raven Guard stuff. And the Storm Ravens have a few ideas of their own.'

'Felack's point, I think,' Alaster said, 'was that the Codex is an inspiration. It's a useful guide – a how-to manual for war, basically. A lot of its stuff is good, some brilliant. But, it was written thousands of years ago. The people who wrote it didn't have to face Tyranids, or Necrons or those – what are they called? – those Tau scum. It can't describe every situation we'll ever face. It shouldn't be a straitjacket. The Chapter's organisation is odd – but it hasn't suffered for it. Some of its ideas have even gone into the Codex – like the Suppression Doctrine.'

Nasty sighed. 'I remember Felackwittering on about it. Something about landspeeders and tanks, wasn't it?'

Patreus squeezed out his mop into his bucket. The droplets splashed into the dirty water. 'It means using landspeeders to spot for Whirlwinds. Landspeeder jumps in, does a quick recce, feeds co-ordinates back and jumps out. Before the enemy can react, the Whirlwind buries them in missiles. Simple but very effective.'

'That sounds skakking obvious. How come that was a new idea?'

Alaster shrugged. 'Felack said they had assault marines to do the spotting. Works similarly, if any of them survive touchdown.'

'There's a few ifs there,' Nasty said.

'And that was the problem,' a new voice said sternly.

Oh no. Alaster turned. Kodos had materialised behind them.

Kodos glared at the aspirants. 'You're problem,' he said, 'is yakking. You should be working!'

'Yes Sergeant,' they chorused, reaching for their cleaning implements.

Sometime after Alaster and the other aspirants were sent to bed that night, something strange happened.

One moment he was lying on the bunk, pulling the thin sheet around him. He shuffled, trying to get comfortable. Fatigue filled his weary body. As well as tutoring Nasty, the section had been all over the ship cleaning. It had been exhausting. He was very sleepy. He was hoping, desperately, that just for once the sergeant might let them sleep a full five hours.

As he lay in the dark, he felt his eyelids sagging.

An impossible bolt of bluish lightning rent the sky.

Alaster jerked, startled. He found himself on a broken slope of jagged scree. The rocky slope extended up above him to a sharp ridge. Behind him, it slid away to a distant plain. The slope was covered in bits of black volcanic rock. There was a large stone next to him; Alaster looked at it. Gingerly, he touched it. It was sharp and pointy. He could feel the rough surface rasping against his skin..

'What the hell?' He looked around himself, brows dented in confusion. 'Where am I?'

He looked up. The sky was black and red and brown with racing storm clouds. A hellish carmine light spilled in through gaps in the clouds. He didn't get a clear look at it but the sky beyond looked wrong, somehow.

Alaster wondered if he was dreaming. Tentatively, he poked himself. He felt awake and alert. His mind was clear and free – this was unlike any dream he'd had before. There were none of the usual muddled thoughts and vague chains of illogic.

His environment, however, was not the cabin.

Another bluish light ripped across the sky. This time, Alaster caught it. It wasn't lightning. The bolt was exactly that, straight as a road. Some sort of laser, he thought. He didn't see it move across the sky. Rather, the actinic blue line just winked into existence, then winked away again. Lasers, he knew, moved far faster then the human eye could possibly hope to track, so this did not surprise him.

He followed the beam-line, to the ground.

Down on the plain below, horror awaited him. A plume of smoke rose from the wreckage of a city. The skeletons of broken buildings peeped timidly up from heaps of rubble. Streets were just recognisable amongst the strewn masses of debris. Toward the centre, he could see bent and jagged skyscrapers, their torn carcasses rising like the fingers of an outstretched hand, pleading for help.

Help that would never come. Something outside the city caught his eye. At first glance, he thought it was a forest. A forest of dead, leafless trees. But no – the trees were too regular. The trunks all had the same basic shape. He realised they were gibbets, seen in the distance. Thousands and thousands of gibbets. A body swung from each one.

What was this? Alaster stared, sickened and appalled. From his lofty vantage point, the bodies looked little more than crucified ants, but he knew what they were. He took a breath. He realised he could smell the charnel house, faintly – an odour of smoke and blood and other, even less salubrious things.

Hang on, that wasn't right. Smell? Alaster frowned. His sense of smell was usually noted by its inadequacy. His dreams never had scents. What kind of freakish nightmare was this? He leaned forward, to stand. Sudden, stabbing pain erupted in his midriff. Alaster clutched at it and looked down.

Looking down he saw he was wearing his aspirant's tunic and trousers, but there was a large tear in one side of the fabric. The cloth was dark with blood. Hand shaking with fear, Alaster reached inside the tear. He found a wound, a ragged gap in his flesh. It was hot and slick with blood.

Alaster swallowed. He felt afraid. He looked around – he seemed to be alone on the slope. The dream had just climbed to a whole new level of awful. He withdrew his hand, looking at the blood, dark against his skin. He wiped it on the tunic, wondering what to do.

The dream showed no sign of ending. Frightened as he was, Alaster supposed he should try some first aid. Maybe that would make things hurt less.

Wincing at the pain, he tore a strip from his tunic. Balling it up, he stuffed it into the wound, to try and stop the bleeding. He gasped as the fabric bundle went in.

The sky lit up again with the laser. Alaster saw it strike – a different portion of the ruined city. He noticed it hit one of the sole few intact buildings. There was something regular, almost methodical about the periodic beams. He waited for it to flash again – there! It was hitting the intact ones, systematically demolishing them. How strange. It was as if the beam was trying to expunge any hint that the city had ever existed.

Alaster wondered if this was some deep symbolism on from his subconscious. If it was, he dreaded to think what was really going on down there. No, this was unlike any dream he'd ever had. It was too immediate, too vivid – too horrible. A strange idea came to him. For a moment, he wondered if this dream could have some external source. Could it be a vision?

The idea seemed preposterous. Alaster simply wasn't the visionary type. Even assuming that sort of thing was even real in the first place, it didn't happen to people like him. He'd been told that time and time again in church every Septday. The Emperor may inspire his servants where needed, but not ordinary street scum. Certainly not low-level bureaucrats and their equally low-level children. And yet…

Alaster's eyes tracked downwards to his tunic. The wings of the raven were spread proudly over his ribs, the lightning bolt carried on its back over his heart. He was in training for the Space Marines. Did that make a difference?

To himself, he muttered, 'If you want to be a Raven, try acting like one! Let's quit just sitting here.' Carefully, painfully, he struggled to his feet. If he moved slowly the throbbing pain in his side wasn't so bad.

The pain. It was completely believable. With a sense of horror, a new thought came to him. What if this wasn't a dream? It hardly seemed possible – and yet, it was a simpler explanation than visions. Perhaps this was some training mission gone badly wrong? Perhaps his injury had stunned him, rattled his brain – maybe that was why his last memory was going to bed. Maybe this was actually years or months after the ship?

Paranoia clutched at him. Alaster's mind was whirl of confusion.

He decided to get away from the slope. He half-stumbled, half-walked toward the crest. Gravel and small stones slid from beneath his feet. The rolling pebbles hissed as they seeped over the scree. Alaster reached the top of the ridge. He was out of breath. Panting, he slumped to his knees. It was a bad position – it was putting pressure on his wound.

Briefly he remembered Librarian Kaylos's tent on Delta Octalis. He remembered the crack-booms of the bolters as the three aspirants had been killed. He wondered if their deaths had felt anything like this.

The crest of the ridge was just before him. It was a serrated, blade-like shelf of rock. There was no gravel here. There was a wide crack in the rock just to his left. On instinct, Alaster peered out from behind it.

There was a black basalt plateau beyond the shelf. Alaster noted lots of lumpy rocks, strewn across it. The plateau was maybe a dozen feet below his position. A shape caught his eye, a splash of different colour amongst the blacks and greys. Alaster looked and moaned in appalled disbelief.

Down below him, beside the rock shelf, lay a fallen Storm Raven. The man's helmet had been blown half-open. Brains, blood and torn ceramite were sprayed around the corpse. Swallowing hard, Alaster looked up. He saw another dead Raven. This man had several gaping holes in his chest. Yet another fallen Raven lay beyond him, that warrior's chest torn open.

Alaster realised that what he had thought were lumpy rocks were actually bodies. His confused first glance had got everything wrong. Storm Ravens - the plain was covered with dead men. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Alaster was looking at the bloody consequences of some mass mobilisation gone wrong. Company after company of fallen warriors – most of the chapter must be strewn across that plateau.

Helpless to stop himself, Alaster vomited.

As he was bent double, stomach spasming, a movement caught his eye. He looked up. He managed to swallow back his spew, trying to concentrate. He saw a couple of Space Marines moving amongst the bodies. They were unmistakeable in their bulky power armour. Alaster's heart lifted.

But wait – something was wrong. His surge of hope faded as he looked more carefully. The marines were doing nothing to aid their fallen comrades, just pointing and kicking the occasional corpse. Their colours were not those of the Ravens – these warriors wore silver edged with gold and black shoulder pads. Vicious horns rose from their helmets. Their suits were adorned with savage spikes. One of them had a skull swinging from his belt. Traitors – just like the stained-glass windows Alaster remembered from church, showing the Emperor and His primarchs in the Heresy. One scene, he remembered, had featured a group of warriors armoured just like these.

There was a scrunch of gravel. It was behind him. There was a new scent in the air – old and musty but also deadly. Alaster could also smell woodsmoke and oil – a primed bolter.

'Well look what we have here,' a mocking voice rasped.

Sick with fear, Alaster turned.

Two Traitor-Marines were stood behind him, less then two metres away. They had seen him. The glowing, red eyelenses in their horned helms were focused on him. They held their bolters, ready to fire. Alaster was staring down the barrel of one.

'A survivor,' the other one mocked. 'A pathetic little aspirant, from the look of him.'

'Of course he is,' the first traitor growled. 'We killed all the marines. I counted the bodies. This one must've run off – the little runt.'

'Thought he could get away, did he? Thought he could live after his so-called army failed?' The traitor laughed. It was a cold, grating sound. It put Alaster in mind of an engine with a loose part, groaning and coughing. 'I think we should offer him up – a final sacrifice. A last little morsel from the Ravens. A snack for the Dark Gods.'

'The Warp would swallow this runt whole,' the first one sneered.

There was pain in Alaster's side. The rock below him dug into him. The foul smell of the air offended his nose. This whole place was appalling. Suddenly, his fear snapped into something else. Anger. Rage. How dare these traitors taunt him? He had foresworn no oaths. He had broken no bonds. They were the true runts here, not him.

There was a rock nearby. Alaster grabbed it. Weak from his wound, he lobbed it at the nearest Chaos Marine. 'Die, scum!' he croaked.

The rock bounced uselessly off the traitor's left greave. The traitor laughed scornfully. He lifted his bolter. The world filled with smoke and light and a deafening roar-

'Skak!'

Alaster sat bolt-upright in bed. His head connected with the bunk above. 'Ow!' The collision was noisy in the small cabin. He slumped back down, head throbbing. Overhead the cabin lamp gave off a steady, white glow. The room smelt of bedsheets and a faint tang of air freshener.

'You too, eh?'

Alaster looked to one side. It was Nasty. He was stood by the small washbasin. 'Me what?'

'Nightmare,' Nasty said.

Alaster nodded, groggily. He fumbled with the waistband of his pants, reaching for his side. His hand connected with solid, whole flesh. There was no wound. He sagged back with relief. 'It seemed so real.'

'I dreamt I was with some people. We'd been taken by Orks – taken as slaves.' Nasty shuddered, rubbing his collarbone. 'I had a chain around my neck – and my hands. It was like being in prison again. A chain gang. They were herding us – away from a battlefield.'

'Lots of dead Ravens?'

'You had that too? Yeah, I looked back. Bodies everywhere. It seemed like most of the Chapter. I was in this - or what was left of it.' Nasty waved a hand at his tunic. 'And the other people there – they kept looking at me. Accusatory, like. Like the skakkers in that courtroom. There was this woman. She – she asked me, why didn't you protect us? Why did you fail? All this whiny stuff. And then one of the Orks brained her.' Nasty shuddered again. 'It wasn't nice.'

'What happened next?'

'I woke up – like you. I could see you were having it too, but I couldn't wake you. You just thrashed around.'

'Mine was a bit different.' Alaster swallowed. 'Chaos.' Reluctantly, he recounted his dream.

'That's weird,' Nasty said. 'Why have we both dreamed about the Ravens getting a kicking?'

'That's not respectful,' a groggy voice said from the remaining bunk. Patreus had woken up. 'And I didn't have any nightmares.'

'Lucky you,' Nasty snarked.

Patreus dragged himself out of the bed. 'It's five already. Better get going, I guess.'

Alaster stared at the clock on the wall. 'Skak! We've got half an hour till Kodos shows up!'

'If we each take five minutes we'll be fine. There's fifteen spare then.' Patreus disappeared out of the door, in the direction of the showers. It clicked shut behind him. The sergeant didn't let the aspirants sleep beyond half past five in the morning. When someone had moaned, he'd said that marines got up at four. Since 'none of you skakkers look like Ravens', he said he let them lie in. Given that their training didn't normally end until half past midnight, Alaster wasn't really sure what that meant. He also didn't like it if aspirants missed morning roll-call – which was right after getting up. The only way around it that the section had found was to get up, shower and shave early. It seemed to work, although they had to get back into bed afterwards – Kodos didn't seem to like it if he caught them out of bed.

Like many things around here, none of it really made sense. Alaster had given up worrying about the logic behind it all. They'd found a way around the problem and that was what mattered.

Nasty pulled the sheets from Alaster's mattress. He shoved a hand down its side.

'Hey, what are you doing?'

Nasty grunted. 'Thought so – look at this!'

Alaster leaned over. Nasty was pushing the mattress back. There was a thin cable running out of it, into the wall.

'What do you think that is, then?' Nasty said.

Leaning into the bunks, Alaster looked up. 'There's one into yours as well,' he said, pointing.

'So there is.' Nasty dropped the mattress and leaned back. 'And I think I can just see one up here, too. Patreus has one as well.'

Alaster looked at the mattress. There was Velcro running around the seam. He tugged it. It rustled in protest as it came loose. He tugged the entire strip, along the length of the mattress. The top layer of padding came off.

'Well look at that,' breathed Nasty.

Below the padding but above the springs was a layer of circuitry. It was thin, bending under Alaster's fingertip. The material was strong, though – it bent but it didn't tear. Tiny wires tangled amongst flat chips. It glittered silver.

'You know what that looks like?' Alaster said.

'You mean the patterns in the wires?'

'Yes. Just like those caps the Librarian put on us – but flat.'

'And we've both had weird dreams. Coincidence?'

'Like skak it is.' Alaster felt manipulated. It made him angry. He spat. 'So why didn't Patreus have them too?'

'Coincidence?' Nasty's tone was cynical.

Alaster lowered the cover, carefully fastening it back down. With reluctance, he said, 'Maybe this is – evidence. For your theory.'

'My what? Oh, Patreus the in-denial rogue psyker. Yeah, I suppose so.'

'The Librarian told me he'd tested negative.'

'Did Kaylos tell you how the testing machines work?'

'No, he said he didn't really know – oh.'

'Yeah. Exactly. I think that puts his claims to bed, don't you?'

'So – what do we do?'

'Patreus or the dreams?'

'Either.'

Nasty shrugged. 'Well, tonight I'm sleeping on the floor. I'm not having any skakker putting crap in my head.'

'I thought we should, you know, talk to Kodos…' Alaster trailed off. As he said it, he realised how absurd that idea was.

'He put us in this cabin. I'm sure he knows that stuff is here.' Nasty looked at the wall. 'I mean, you've heard the stories, right?'

'The stories?'

'About marines, you idiot. You know, all the bizarre rituals? The brainwashing?'

'I'd – I'd kind of assumed that was exaggerated.'

Nasty just looked at the mattress.

'So. What do we do about Patreus?'

'Nothing.'

'I'm not sure that helps.'

'Yes it does. I think his ability, whatever it is, is mainly shielding. It shielded him from the probes. It also blocked the mattress. Maybe a bit of precognition as well – short-term stuff. I don't think it's dangerous to us.'

'You've changed your tune.'

'Yeah, I suppose I have. Anyway, point is, it's not much threat to us. But if Kodos finds out we knew…' Nasty drew a finger across his throat. 'I think we should just keep our mouths shut. What the marines don't know can't hurt them, right?'

Alaster shivered. 'I don't know if it works like that,' he said, 'but I see your point.'


	6. Chapter 6 A Warm Welcome

17/12/2008The MisfitsD. Murray

'You're both still here, then.' Nasty stepped down from the Thunderhawk's ramp. He stood in front of Patreus and Alaster. Behind them was the rest of the gaggle of remaining aspirants, on the concrete apron of Gamma Secundus Spaceport. The towers of the city were just visible in the distance, wobbling in the early-morning heat haze over the grey concrete. The sun was close to the horizon and bigger than it looked from Delta.

Alaster was surprised to see Nasty. He'd half-expected the aspirant to vanish, like half the others had done before they'd left the transport-ship. Felack and Kodos had called each aspirant out, by name. They'd been taken to a room, away from the others, and asked for the final time if they wanted to stay on. Somewhat to his own surprise, Alaster had said yes. He'd been sent through one of the room's two hatches, on to the Thunderhawk bay. He had supposed anyone saying no went through the other hatch, to somewhere else on the ship. No-one in the yes-group had seen any of the noes again.

'Not many of us left,' Alaster said, looking around. He waved his hand, fanning his face. Even this early in the morning and even at this high latitude, the day was already warm. He took a few steps, trying to accustom himself to Gamma's lower gravity. It didn't help that the thinner air was making him feel light-headed. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

''Bout twenty, I count,' Nasty agreed. Felack's history tests and Kodos's weapons training had got rid of several more aspirants on the journey. It seemed Alaster, Patreus and Nasty's performances had been adequate – none of them had vanished during the night.

'How's your back?' Alaster said.

'Sore,' Nasty acknowledged. 'That floor isn't comfortable.' He had made good his promise to sleep on the floor. Alaster had considered joining him but there wasn't room. In return he had been lashed with nightmares for the remainder of the journey. He'd tried pulling the plug on the mattress, but the cable was securely anchored. He'd tried lying on top of the sheets but it didn't seem to damp the signal enough. He hadn't slept well since the Rhino.

There was a clang of boots on the ramp as Kodos disembarked. The aspirants all fell silent. 'All right, listen up,' Kodos said. 'Don't get comfortable here – we're not staying. There'll be a bus to take us to the terminal in a minute. Here's what we're doing…'

Kodos's martialling proved effective. The aspirants had a quick journey through Gamma's Immigration and Customs. They were given envious stares by the long queues of business passengers. They had been waiting for some time – efficiency didn't seem to be a common Gamman virtue. There was a short queue – just long enough for Nasty to complain.

'Why do we have to wait at all?' he said, glaring at the concourse interior. It was decorated in generic corporate fake-marble and unhealthy-looking potted plants. The Immigration desk was in front of them, the entrance to the main concourse behind it. A thick wall separated the main atrium from the departure lounge. 'We should go straight through. Isn't Gamma one of ours?'

Alaster sighed. Unbidden, the textbook answer bubbled up. 'Sort of. Kind of not really, though. The planet owes fief to the Raven Lord and counts with Delta for Imperial purposes. But it has its own Home Rule Authority. The locals like to remind us they think it's independent. A lot of the locals feel kind of feel put out by Delta. They think Delta has all the wealth and doesn't share.'

'Does it?' Nasty asked bluntly.

'The problem is, this place is poor,' Alaster explained. 'The planet's marginal and the soils aren't good. That puts limits on agriculture and that curbs growth. The population's only a dozen million. It's going to stay poor unless the climate changes.'

'Is that likely?'

'You saw how big the seas were, on the way in?'

'Yeah. They looked tiny.'

'There's your answer, then. I hear it was wetter, millions of years ago.'

'Young man, that's dangerous talk,' a new voice said.

Alaster blinked and looked up. While they'd been talking, the queue had advanced. They were stood at the passport desk. The clerk was speaking to them. She was a blond lady in her late twenties. She was dressed in the typical Gamman business fashion, a light-coloured blouse with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders. It was all conservative and normal, except for the pendant she wore around her neck. It was in silver and it featured an eagle clutching at a double-helix. The symbol seemed familiar, although Alaster couldn't quite place from where. It glittered, somehow ominous in the concourse lights. She also had their travel documents in front of her. She was clutching an official stamp, its face stained with red ink from the blotter pad by her elbow.

'I'm sorry,' Alaster said to her. 'I don't think I understand.'

Nasty was looking at her, calculatingly. His eyes glimmered with interest. His posture was alert and his breathing was suddenly a little faster. He leaned casually on the desk. 'Well hello,' he said. 'May I say, I do like your shawl.'

The lady blinked. Abruptly, she flushed. She rubbed at her hair with her free hand. 'Well it is an indulgence,' she said with the air of a great confession, 'but I need to look smart for my work, you know? I mean, the pastor does say that we must take our labour seriously.'

Nasty smiled. It was a little oily. 'Oh, to a lady of your calibre it's not an indulgence. A necessity, I'd think.'

The passport clerk looked confused, unsure whether to be flattered or offended. Alaster winced. What an awful pick-up line! It seemed Nasty fancied himself as a master seductor. Alaster suspected the success rate might not be so good. To stop this getting any more awkward he decided to change the subject.

'I still don't understand,' he said, 'what was dangerous. I hope we haven't accidentally broken any Gamman law or anything like that.' It sounded lame, but at least it wasn't Nasty trying to chat the poor woman up.

She twitched, surprised by the change of speaker. 'Oh, no, nothing like that. It was just – well I hope you don't mind, but it was what you said.'

'That being?'

'About the world being millions of years old. Everyone knows it's only ten thousand.'

Now Alaster felt confused. 'I'm sorry. You've lost me.'

'Well, everyone who knows the truth, I mean, not the false creeds,' the lady allowed with an air of generosity. She fingered her pendant. 'The Emperor created the galaxy ten thousand years ago. That's what my church tells us.'

Nasty's smile was fixed in place but his eyes looked appalled. 'What about all the aliens? Did the Emperor create them too?'

'Oh yes.' She nodded with great sincerity. 'They're here to test our faith. If we stay true to our humanity, you see, we'll find the path to paradise once more, in the Garden of Earth.'

Nasty was silent. His smile had warped into a rictus grin.

Alaster looked at the pendant again. The double helix – oh, of course. Not being a Tech Adept, his scientific education was patchy at best, but he had picked up a few things here and there. The double helix – DNA. A symbol recently hijacked by the latest weirdo cult to reach the Octalian System. There'd been something about them on the news a few weeks ago, questions in the Assembly or something. Alaster remembered sitting in the main room of his parents' cramped apartment, while the broadcast played. He hadn't been paying close attention, but he recalled the First Minister's droning voice, trying to talk over some of her equally-dull colleagues. He remembered his father, staring at the screen with unconcealed contempt. 'Cult scum,' he'd said. 'As if we don't have enough real problems.' He'd changed the channel at that point.

Alaster leaned forward. 'Anyway, if you could just process our documents we'll be on our way-'

It seemed that wasn't adequate for Nasty. 'What about the ruins? All the pre-Imperial skak, you know, the stuff they say you find everywhere?'

Alaster closed his eyes and groaned. He peeked them open again – the woman wasn't paying him any attention. She was staring at Nasty, as if he had just showed her a square egg.

'There aren't any,' she said earnestly. 'Just rock formations and such. They can fool the untrained eye.'

Alaster wondered if this scene could get any worse. Quickly enough, it did. Nasty said, 'I bet the marines would disagree.'

The woman shuddered. She made the sign of the eagle. She looked like she'd swallowed a foul bit of gristle. Then she looked at their tunics. Her face changed as a connection occurred inside her head, striking through the fog of another mind-numbing day at work.

Her eyes focused on both of them again. This time she looked at them with pleading entreaty. 'Look, you need to listen to me. We can help you. You might think you're doing the right thing, I understand that, really I do, but-'

A fist in a blue-black gauntlet thumped the tabletop. Kodos had appeared behind Alaster and Nasty. 'If you wouldn't mind,' the sergeant said in a low and angry voice, 'would you please process the forms? Some of us have honest work to do.'

The woman flinched backwards. She looked up at Kodos. Her face twisted with revulsion. The muscles on her neck bulged as she drew up her shoulders.

Alaster risked a look at Kodos. The sergeant was visibly furious. He said, 'Please just stamp the papers. Or do I have to get the management?'

Her lip curled. With a shaking hand she took the papers and stamped them. The stamp thudded as it smacked into the paper. Without even looking at the aspirants, she all but threw the papers at them. She dropped the stamp and hugged her arms to her chest.

'All right,' Kodos said, 'thank you.' He made the word sound like an insult. He gathered up the papers. 'You two come with me.'

As they walked through Immigration, Kodos said, 'We don't have to talk to their sort, understand? It's bad enough they're spreading their poison amongst the civil populace – frankly, that was unforgiveable. I'm going to have words with the Ports Authority about this. They need to vet their staff more carefully.

'I want you to wait here until the bus is ready.'

With that he strode off, boots clacking on the fake-stone flooring.

Alaster and Nasty found themselves gathered with the other aspirants, in a waiting area. A row of seats ran along one wall. The wall was composed entirely of windows, looking out over the car park and the taxi rank beyond. In the distance were the towers and spires of Gamma Secundus. A few small aircraft disturbed the sky over it. On the opposite side of the car park some people were gathered behind a line of uniformed men. The crowd had placards of various sizes. They could hear a susurration – the crowd were chanting something.

Nasty was watching Kodos' retreating back. 'What was all that about?' He jerked a thumb toward the Immigration station behind them.

'That woman. She was an Originist,' Alaster said.

'Them.' Nasty spat angrily. 'How did you know?'

'Didn't you notice her pendant?'

Nasty looked behind him. He could just see the woman, sat at her desk in the middle distance. 'She was wearing a pendant?'

'Yeah, with the eagle holding the double-helix.'

'Oh skak me. Didn't notice. I was too busy ogling her tits!' He shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face, grimacing. 'I should go over there and sort her out.'

'No, don't – that's not going to help.' Alaster grabbed Nasty's elbow and tugged him over to the seats. 'Come on, let's sit down for a moment – hey, what's with all those people?'

Nasty peered at the crowd in the distance. 'They've got signs,' he said. 'Hey, they're looking at us!' He pointed.

He was right; the crowd did appear to be focusing on the terminal building. On impulse, Alaster looked over his shoulder, back toward the Immigration desk. The woman was looking toward the cluster of aspirants. She was holding a phone handset to her ear and was talking to it. Alaster couldn't hear what she was saying but he could take a guess.

He turned back to Nasty. 'Don't look now, but little miss nutbar over there's on the phone. What's the betting she's just told someone over there who we are?'

'Oh great,' Nasty said brightly. 'I'd really like to kick some Originist arse!'

Alaster peered at the crowd. He could just read some of the larger signs. One said, MARINES GO HOME! Another declared, GAMMA FOR HUMANS! The others made related and equally-strident declarations. He had a sinking feeling. The uniformed men, he realised, were from the Gamman civil police force. There didn't seem to be many of them, compared to the crowd.

A taxi pulled up behind the crowd and some more people got out. They had placards too. It was hard to tell at this distance but they looked angry.

'You might get your wish,' Alaster said. 'I wonder if we're on ground zero for a riot.'

Nasty was beaming. 'Great.'

'How is that "great"?'

'You know I told you about Natalya?'

'Yes. Why?'

'The skakkers who killed her were Originists.'

Alaster breathed deeply, looking around for anything that might qualify as a weapon. He was feeling distinctly underarmed. He noticed a data slate, lying abandoned on a nearby chair. He picked it up, rubbing a finger across the screen. It beeped on. It had a copy of the day's paper loaded on it, left behind by some forgetful tourist.

Alaster scanned through the headlines. Something caught his eye. He tapped through to the article. He read down the page, frowning. 'Not good,' he said under his breath.

'What?' Nasty tuned in again from his fantasies of violence.

'Huh? Oh, just the news. Looks like there's a bit of a problem with Originists, here.'

'Why, what's happened?'

'This article.' Alaster pointed at the screen. 'They're demanding their own special seat on the Home Rule Council. Apparently the independence lobby have thrown in their lot with the Originists. They're threatening to walk out if their new mates don't get it. That'd be a third of the council – it'd be inquorate. Complete deadlock.'

Nasty shrugged. 'So what? Politics is a pile of boring skak.'

'Not if it paralyses the government, it isn't.' Alaster looked toward the city, frowning. 'And from the other articles, this is a really bad time for a council crisis. There's all sorts of problems with the economy – more than normal, I mean. People out of work, food prices going up, a couple of the banks being all wobbly – throw in a political spat and you've got a nasty mix down here.'

'What does it all mean?'

Alaster looked at the crowd. 'Weakness,' he said slowly. 'They want power – that's clear. Depends on how ruthless they want to be.'

'Well what do they think they're going to do? Mount a coup? Do they think the Ravens would let them?'

A disquieting thought entered Alaster's head. 'Maybe that's what they want,' he said. 'Force a confrontation. Get some shots fired. Get a few bystanders killed. Make the chapter look bad.'

Nasty was about to reply when Kodos stomped back to them. His hands were balled into fists and his face was scowling with barely-contained rage. 'Karo! Come with me. You, you and you-' he pointed at three other cadets '- come with us too.'

He stomped over to the far end of the waiting area. Alaster followed. The other three cadets joined them by the window.

'Okay,' Kodos told them, trying to contain his fury, 'as you might've noticed, we've got a little situation developing here. See those protestors over there? Turns out a stupid little cult has taken root here on Gamma. It's been trying to get its tentacles into Delta, but it's really taken off here.'

'Poverty,' Alaster said thinking out loud.

Kodos looked at him. 'Maybe,' the sergeant allowed. 'A lot of frustration floating around, lots of money problems. Then someone turns up with a magical solution. The desperate jump at it – yeah, I can see that. Dumb skakkers. Anyway, it seems no-one thought to tell us just how bad things had got down here.'

One of the other cadets – Sandrer – said, 'They're noisy out there but how bad is it really?'

Alaster waved the slate. 'There's a poll someone's done on here – says they've got thirty percent support.'

'What's that?' Kodos asked, eyeing the slate.

'The day's paper, sergreant.'

Kodos reached out and plucked it from Alaster's hand. 'Might have a look at that a bit later. Find out what else we haven't been told.

'Anyway, we were supposed to be getting a coach, that'd take you lot down to the training range. Only it can't get into the car park – they've blocked the road. Skakkers. I promise you, there'll be hell to pay for this. Protesting is one thing but this could be taken as sabotage. The council's going to regret the day it was born when the Raven Lord gets onto them.'

'What are we going to do, sergeant?' Alaster asked.

Kodos sighed. 'There's only one thing for it. We're going to get back on the Thunderhawk and take that instead. And bill the Home Rule Council for the extra fuel it's going to cost us.'

Oh. Alaster blinked and relaxed. That sounded sensible.

'But,' Kodos said, 'we're going to have to move fast. That lot out there aren't going to stand around forever. You can't hear the slogans but I can. They've got a couple of stirrer-types working them up. Making them angry and stupid. Mob rule at its finest. When they see us move, I reckon they're going to charge.

'We need to be ready. I want each of you to get your sections together – and get them ready to fight, if we must.'

Alaster became aware of the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the smooth floor under his feet. He tried not to swallow.

'What about the police?' he asked.

'That lot out there won't hold a mob. I've called the Arbites in Secundus for support but it's rush hour out there. By the time the vans get through the traffic – well, I don't want to count on it.'

Sandrer asked, 'What do we do for weapons, sergeant?'

'Anything you can find,' Kodos replied. 'We need to be ready in five minutes – I want you back here, with your sections by then. Now move!'

Alaster went back to Nasty. While he'd been away the aspirant had been joined by Patreus. They both turned as Alaster approached.

'What's going on?' Patreus asked.

'We're going back to the Thunderhawk,' Alaster told them, 'but we're likely to get mobbed.'

'Skak. What are we going to do? We haven't got any weapons.'

Alaster blinked – Patreus swearing? How bizarre. 'Look – over there.' Alaster pointed. A cleaner's trolley was sat next to a potted plant, on their left.

'Mops? Are you joking?' Nasty looked incredulous.

'Do you see anything else?'

A few moments later Alaster and Nasty were awkwardly grasping mops. Patreus wasn't awkward at all – he was testing the balance on his, setting it on his wrist and moving it back and forth until he found its centre of mass. Then he grabbed it firmly in two hands, like a staff. He spun on one foot, sweeping the head in front of him. He nodded, satisfied. 'It's solid wood,' he said. 'I could do some damage with this.'

Alaster gripped his mop. The handle was plastic. He noted the smooth material gave slightly under his fingers. He was not filled with confidence.

He looked up to see Kodos walking back.

'Okay, that's our cue – follow me.' Alaster walked over. Nasty and Patreus followed. Shortly after them came the other sections. They gathered with thirty seconds to spare.

Kodos merely nodded. 'We're going back to the Thunderhawk,' he said. 'That mob has this place blockaded.'

'Shouldn't we fight them off, Sergeant?' a recruit asked.

Kodos glanced at the distant mob with a sneer. 'That's a great way to start your career – with a bloodbath of the people we're sworn to protect. No – I could have them all by myself, if needs be, but I don't want it to come to that. They've done nothing to earn martyrdom. If there's any shooting here, it'll be them starting it. No, we're going to go to the Thunderhawk and go straight on to the training range. We're just going to walk back through the Immigration corridor there. If anyone kicks up a fuss – ignore them.'

Alaster looked back toward the departure lounge. The immigration desk woman was eyeing them. He noticed she was still holding her phone.

'Let's move,' Kodos said.

The gaggle of aspirants walked toward the departure lounge.

The woman was saying something into her phone. Kodos focused on her. She met his gaze. She smiled.

'Oh, skak,' Kodos said. 'Come on - run!' His boots thudded on the floor as he leapt into a run. The aspirants sprinted after him.

Outside the mob roared. It was a bellow of pure hate.

The woman reached out. Her finger stabbed something on her desk.

A klaxon sounded. The concourse filled with noise. With a grinding roar, a security shutter plunged from the ceiling. It slammed into the ground, right in front of Kodos.

'Damn them!' he shouted, punching the screen. The thick metal slats wobbled but held firm. Alaster stared – they were cut off from the departure gates!

There was a sound behind them. Alaster looked back. The mob was surging forward, rupturing the thin police line. Someone had just hurled something at the windows.

Oh skak. Alaster saw a broken bottle, lying on the pavement beyond. Fluid had spilled out around it. Flames were licking up.

'Petrol bottle,' Nasty whispered next to Alaster

Alaster looked back. 'Sergeant. What should we do?'

Kodos didn't appear to be listening. He glared at the shutter. He moved his jaw, back and forth. Then he spat.

A big gobbet of some thick fluid hit the screen. It hissed on impact, giving off steam. It slid slowly down the screen, leaving a burnt trail behind it.

'Oh great – it's too thick for acid.' Kodos looked annoyed.

There was another thud behind them. It was followed swiftly by a crash of glass shattering. A stone smacked into one of the seats. The screaming of the mob was louder.

'Sergeant,' Alaster repeated, 'what do we do? Give us orders!'

Kodos snapped back from his irritated meditation. 'What do we do?' He gave the mob a dismissive glance. 'Well, they've left us one option. Kick their skakking arses, that's what!'

There was a collection of people pushing at the main door. Kodos lifted his plasma pistol and sighted down it. Alaster stared at the wavering heathaze over the vents. The sergeant was going to shoot! Alaster swallowed. A lot of people were about to die. This was sick-

Kodos shot the metal frame of the door.

The people on the other side squealed in sudden pain. The plasma dumped its charge into the metal. Lightning crawled over frame. Stunned bodies fell away from the door. The crowd backed away.

Alaster's revulsion turned to awe as he understood what Kodos had just done.

Kodos shot the door twice more. This time he aimed at the hinges. 'There,' he said. 'They're nicely melted – no-one'll be using that entrance again for a while!'

The aspirants were all staring.

'Sections Karo and Sandrer, flank the second window right of the door! That's the one with all the breaks, that's the weak one.' Kodos shot at it. The glass exploded outwards. Several rioters screamed while the rest staggered back.

Alaster stared at the hole. 'Sergeant, they'll come in through there!'

'Yes. We know where they'll be attacking from, now. Your and Sandrer's sections are to take down the first wave of intruders. The other sections are to stay behind you, mop up the ones that get past. Leave any with projectile weapons to me. Now move yourselves!'

There was a note of command in Kodos's voice. He sounded authoritative, confident of obedience. It was hard to resist. Alaster found himself running forward to the window. He clutched at his mop. Nasty and Patreus flanked him. Sandrer and his remaining sectioners took up station on the other side of the glass.

The mob outside had fallen back but its ringleaders were whipping it back into shape. They were good at their craft, Alaster could see that. The people out there were just civilians, not even any Guardsmen let alone Astartes trainees. And yet, with the professional stirrers working on their hate, they gathered up again and ran forwards.

Behind them Alaster just had time to notice the crumpled forms of the cops. They looked dead, crushed under the stampede.

The mob surged forward, eyes wild and frothing at the mouth. They really were frenzied. Alaster wondered briefly how anyone could hate their fellow people that much.

Then the mob reached the window.

The first, most manic rioters climbed in. Alaster clubbed one with his mop. To his surprise, the lady went down. She was quickly followed by a gent in a smart business shirt and cap. Aside from his mad, squinty eyes, he looked like a banker or an office clerk. He threw himself at Alaster.

Alaster ducked to the side. He brought the mop up and downed the man. He turned just in time to duck a swung fist from another intruder. Alaster jabbed the mop at the latest attacker. It hit the man in the ribs. He stumbled backwards. He slipped and fell over a potted plant. He knocked his head on the side of the pot and passed out.

Alaster turned, not quite in time this once. A fist cracked into his head. For a moment he saw stars, then he moved instinctively. With a swipe of his leg he knocked the frenzied attacker over. They hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. They didn't get up.

Alaster stepped back, risking a quick look around. The concourse had become one big brawl. Against the rioters the aspirants were surprisingly lethal, even after only two weeks of training. Still forms were crumpled everywhere but Alaster couldn't see any fallen aspirants.

Nasty had a pile of limp forms in front of him. As Alaster watched he punched out another attacker. Patreus was almost graceful as he swiped his mop-cum-staff through a thicket of attackers. They toppled with painful thuds onto the floor. Patreus spun as a man came up behind him. Patreus's movement was fluid and perfect – his foot connected with the man's knee. As the man staggered, Patreus clubbed him over the head with the mop.

The attacker went down with a grunt.

Kodos was fighting his way to the window. He smacked a frenzied Originist out of his path with the back of his gun. The man's head connected with the vents – Alaster caught a sudden smell of bacon as the man fell back. He'd have a nasty burn on his forehead later – that gun was hot! Even as the man fell Kodos had to punch out another attacker. He didn't even glance round, his free fist just lashing out to his left.

This attacker went flying. Alaster didn't see where he landed.

Pain erupted between Alaster's shoulders. He was jerked back into the fight. He spun round, suddenly grateful for Patreus and Nasty's lessons.

There was a man behind him. Unlike the rest of them, his face wasn't frenzied. He looked almost calm – and definitely in control. There was hate in his eyes, but it was a cold and focused hate. This one, Alaster realised, was dangerous.

The man swung. There was a flash of reflected light – Alaster finally saw the knife in the man's hand. Too late! Even as he ducked aside it raked across his shoulder. He felt the skin slice, a sudden gash of pain.

His tunic was ripped. Red blood stained it with a spreading patch of darkness.

Alaster staggered back. Skak – this wasn't good! He was having trouble gripping the mop. The pain was distracting.

The man swung again. This time Alaster blocked it, clumsily. The man's fist hit the handle hard. It snapped. The impact reverberated up Alaster's bones. He stumbled backwards, holding the remains of the mop. His hands hurt.

Triumphantly, the man raised his knife.

'Cadet Karo! Duck!'

Acting on instinct, Alaster dived to the ground as he heard Kodos' shout. He heard a crackling boom. A white light shot above him – he felt the heat of its passage. He screwed his eyes shut. There was a loud crack from just above and in front of him, followed by two thuds. Something splashed to the floor next to him.

The room had fallen silent. There was an intense stink of burnt meat and excrement. Alaster nervously opened his eyes.

His attacker lay in front of him, split in two. The middle section of his torso was missing, vapourised by the plasma bolt. Kodos's shot at the door earlier must have been some sort of low-power mode, Alaster realised. The weird analytical flash rushed through his brain as it tried to block out the horror before him.

The heat of the bolt had almost cauterised the two sections of the man's corpse. However, it had also boiled the stuff in between. The force of that secondary explosion had torn the upper sections open. Innards were spilled across the floor.

Alaster dropped to his knees. His stomach heaved. Unable to control himself, he vomited. He continued heaving for a couple of minutes, until there was nothing to come up.

He felt an armoured hand under his shoulder. Almost gently, Kodos hauled him to his feet.

'You're injured,' the sergeant said.

'My arm,' Alaster said weakly. 'He had a knife.'

'Your back as well,' Kodos told him.

'My back?' Alaster blinked stupidly. Then he became aware of a warm, wet feeling on his back.

'You didn't know? I saw him get you with it on his first strike. Thought you were about to go down. I guess you were too buys to notice.' There was just a hint of respect in the sergeant's voice!

Alaster looked away from the grizzly scene before him. He felt Kodos probing his back. A sudden stab of pain confirmed the injury.

'How bad is – is it?'

Kodos poked something. Alaster winced. 'Not very,' the sergeant told him dismissively. 'Some disinfectant and some healing plasters and you'll be fine in a day or two.' He stepped back. Alaster turned and faced him. He also surveyed the destruction in the concourse.

The entire mob was strewn along the floor. The aspirants were picking themselves up and dusting each other off. With shock, Alaster realised a couple of them were missing! He felt weak at the knees. The fight had been so sudden, so fast.

One of the rioters lay unconscious on the ground in front of Alaster. The man's face was pale, almost bloodless. A trail of spittle emerged from his mouth. Alaster squatted beside him. He lifted an eyelid to see if the man looked concussed.

His eye was milky, the pupil glazed and unfocused. What the hell? Alaster put a hand near his mouth – the man was definitely breathing. His eyes, however, looked dead.

'Sergeant. I think you need to see this.'

Kodos squatted down next to him. 'What is it, lad?'

'Look. His eye.' Alaster pointed.

Kodos looked. 'By the Emperor. That's weird.' He leaned forward. He ran a finger over the man's lip, then sniffed it. The anger reignited in his eyes. 'Well, isn't that interesting.'

'What is it, sergeant?'

'He's been drugged,' Kodos said. 'They've all been skakking drugged!'

Alaster looked around, at all the sprawled bodies. 'They did go down kind of fast, some of them,' he said.

'Overloaded metabolism, I'll bet,' Kodos said. 'Once the drug kicks in, a few minutes' berserk rage, then thump! Down you go.'

'Skak me,' Alaster said.

'Someone,' Kodos said, 'someone out there is a complete monster.'

'The mob – they weren't berserk earlier. Just normally-angry.'

Kodos nodded. 'I've seen combat drugs like this. It's a two-stage process. You put the actual drug in hours before, but it just floats in the bloodstream. Doesn't do anything, until you give the drugee the activator. The drugee sometimes doesn't even know they've been primed. I reckon that might be the case with these civvies.'

'How did they get the drugs in these people, then?'

'Maybe they doped a communion chalice or something. As for the activator, that's the easy bit. It can be anything – another injection, a pill, even a special pheromone. I reckon that's what they may have used here – I didn't see the ringleaders sticking needles in anyone.'

There was a wail of sirens in the distance.

Kodos rolled his eyes. 'Finally. The Arbites. About skakking time.' He stood up. 'Let's see what they have to say for themselves…'

10


	7. Chapter 7 In Reflection

The bolter jerked like a startled horse. The repeating roar of its rapid-fire mode filled the training range. A streak of orange fire leapt out from the muzzle flare. Captain Lakon cursed, releasing the trigger.

'Damn,' he muttered. 'Wrong magazine.'

The tracer round slammed into the target at the far end of the range, hitting it dead centre. A little wisp of smoke floated up. Lakon ignored it as he tugged the dead magazine from his gun. He swapped it for a full one from a pouch.

'That was a schoolboy error,' someone said from nearby.

Lakon gave no sign of being startled. Instead, unhurried and professional, he slipped the safety on his bolter. Holding it before him, with the muzzle down, he turned to face the speaker.

It was late in the day in this part of Delta Octalis. Reddish evening sunlight played over Fellack's skull-embossed black armour. The light glinted on the chaplain's massive crozius – he was holding the giant mace absent-mindedly in one hand. Behind him, in the distance, the spires of the Ravenholme towered over the intervening trees. Aside from them, this training range was deserted.

'Fellack – what are you back for?' Lakon was surprised now. Holding the bolter by its grip, he reached up with his free hand and tugged his helmet off. He clipped it to his belt then took the bolter back into both hands.

'Trying to find you, actually.'

Lakon glanced at his gun. 'Given what's going down, I figured I needed some practise.' He nodded at the target. 'I think that little incident proves the point, Brother-Chaplain. Too much time sat in that skakking office and not enough honest fighting.'

Fellack laughed. 'Pity you're not an aspirant anymore, Brother-Captain. I can't kick your arse for putting the wrong magazine in!'

'And you haven't been a drill sergeant for a long time, Brother. So – what does bring you back? You should be on Gamma right now. In fact, you should only just have got there, give or take a couple of hours.'

'I ordered a Warp jump back to Delta. I didn't think what happened could wait. And some of the injured needed immediate attention. We didn't want to risk Gamma's hospitals, given the events.'

'Injured?' All humour drained away from Lakon. His manner was now that of the veteran Astartes officer. 'This is news to me. Report.'

'An attack on the aspirants, at Secundus Spaceport. A drugged-up mob, with a few professional trouble-makers as handlers. About fifty people – they stormed the spaceport to get at the aspirants.'

'Casualties?'

'On our side? Lots of bruises and knocked heads, two broken arms and one with internal injuries. Their lot? Six dead, the rest out of action.'

'I'm not bothered about them. Who and how bad was the internal case?'

'Before I came to find you, I had him sent to the Ravenholme's hospital. Internal bleeding, five fractured ribs, both legs broken, fractured pelvis, a punctured lung, some organ trauma and an eye that's going to need replacing – Cadet Ynaxas is a mess.'

'His status?'

'You know his compatibility was borderline? He's already coming out of adolescence. By the time the doctors are done with him, his testosterone levels will probably be too low for geneseed.'

'Skak.' Lakon looked furious. 'So these bastards have cost us a marine.'

'Yes. To be honest, I think Ynaxas might be a candidate for honourable discharge. He's never going to walk again without a stick. It's a pity – he was attacked by nine of the mob. According to Kodos, he handled himself well – he took seven down on his own, two of them permanently.'

'This mob. The independence movement? No, that doesn't make sense. They make a lot of noise but not much else. They're not completely stupid. This is someone else, isn't it?'

'Yes. I'm afraid Gamma's developed an Originist problem.'

'Skak. How big?'

'The attack on the spaceport wasn't random. On the day the aspirants went down, their sympathisers also had a go at the planetary government.'

'By the Emperor! So we're talking a coup d'etat here!'

'Close enough. It didn't work, though – news of the attack got out. I personally shouted at the Chairman on the vox. Some of their allies in the council panicked, rejoined the mainstream. The council managed to pass an emergency resolution, expelling the trouble-makers. That was about an hour ago. The Arbites have been in and I think we have most of the ringleaders in custody. But it was damn close. I think the fight at the port was meant to rally the faithful elsewhere. Apparently there were teams ready to make a grab for the city's waterworks and the power station, while the security forces were distracted. The organisers weren't risking any outbreaks of common sense. They'd doped their spaceport rent-a-mob with combat drugs.'

'Combat drugs? Holy Throne – so we're looked at compromised military supply lines, as well.'

'It seems so.'

'What happened at the utilities?'

'Shoot-outs. Arbites one, Originists nil. It seems the port mob moved before they were quite ready. Kodos tried to take the aspirants back to the Thunderhawk. That triggered a stampede. My guess is they were planning another half-hour before going for the aspirants. Kodos forced their hand. Just as well or we'd be looking at re-taking Gamma Secundus – by force.'

'And there were no warnings?'

'Nothing. Their intelligence blackout's been damn tight.' Fellack didn't want to admit it but he was reluctantly impressed.

'Terra's green fields. Well isn't this just a picture? Have you spoken to the Raven Lord – no, of course you have, you'd have done that during orbital insertion, wouldn't you?'

Fellack nodded. 'He's furious. Told me he was going straight on the vox to the First Minister. I guess Yelessa's going to have to do something about their poison here, now.'

'Attacking – actually attacking! – an official Storm Ravens mission. And a revolt with it! The gall is beyond words!'

'The Arbites asked me what to do with the prisoners. I said to keep them in custody, but get the survivors' injuries treated. Was I too lenient?'

'No, not at all. Vengeance would be sweet but we need them alive – they'll help the investigation. Or else. Anyway, if they've been drugged, some of them may be as much victims as we are.' He hesitated. 'This is cynical beyond words, but – the ones who actually managed to hurt the aspirants. Were any of them of recruitable age?'

'No. None of the males in the crowd were under twenty-five. Probably deliberately, I think. The Originists think we're a perversion of the Human form. They don't want to take any chances.' Fellack paused then added, 'But I must confess, I had that thought too. After what they've done they skakking owe us some aspirants!'

'How was Kodos?'

'You know what he's like. When we spoke on the Thunderhawk he was about ready to explode. He takes his duty seriously – he doesn't like it when other people try to kill his aspirants. I could sympathise. With some chapters, Secundus would be a smoking hole after an insult like this.'

'Yes – and some chapters are that far off Chaos.' Lakon raised his hand, holding his thumb and forefinger a fraction apart. 'Mindless rending is not the Ravens' way and never has been.'

'You are right, Brother-Captain. Unlike some we are blessed with restraint.'

'Truly. As for the aspirants – did they perform okay?'

'Yes, they fought well. I've seen the footage, from Kodos's helmet cam. Some sloppiness, some technique issues, lots of missed openings – but on the other hand, this is their first month. None of them ran away. The injured all have their wounds to the fore, as the Space Wolves would say.'

'Well that's one small mercy.' Lakon looked around, shaking his head slowly. 'I'd be gutted if we had to fail them over Originists. And what a time for all this to happen!'

'I've been out of the news loop, while I was on the ship. The Ravenholme seems very busy– is there a deployment coming up?'

'Is there a deployment, he asks? Yes. Six companies.'

'Six? By the Throne – what's happened?'

'You know that splinter from Hive Fleet Fafnir? The one that's been making an inroads in the Erythrios Sector?'

'Too well. I've seen the footage from the retreat from Sacral Blue.'

'Yeah, not one of the Guard's best days, I agree. But the splinter has changed course. It's heading for the Riothria System now.'

'Tell me no.'

'Sorry. It's confirmed. If Riothria falls, the sector's as good as gone. Half the sector's usable Warp routes have termini in that system. And that's before you get to the manufactories or the shipyards.'

'Or the promethium mines on Riothria Minoris.'

'Yes, them too. The Imperium can't lose Riothria. We've had a formal request for aid from the Departmento Munitorum – it came through this morning, by astropath. And it's not just us – word is they've asked four other chapters with forces in the area.'

'Any word on who?'

'The Raven Lord hasn't formally announced it yet. That said, two of the names are out. One good, one less so.'

'The good?'

'The Space Wolves. Einar Thorbjornsson's Great Company.'

'The Cog-Wolf's company. Fighting alongside them will be interesting. A suitable challenge, I think. Can we match their deeds?'

'We bloody well better. The Wolves are one of the parent-chapters. We don't want to look foolish before them! Now, do you want to hear the bad?'

'Do I? No – but tell me anyway.'

'The Ultramarines. Fifth company, supposedly'

Fellack slapped the front of his helmet with a hand. 'It would have to be, wouldn't it? But what are they doing out here? We're a long way from Ultramar.'

'I gather it's a training deployment. Point is, they were in the area and could respond in time. I get the impression the Administratum's panicking just a little over this one.'

'That's probably fair enough. Frankly, it's past time someone did something about Fafnir. So when is this deployment expected?'

'We've got a while yet. The Nids haven't landed yet – and they won't for a while, at the present rate of travel. So we're looking at four months before we need boots on the ground. But, the sooner we can get in place, the better.'

'Nids and Originists. We're looking at a busy year, aren't we?'

'Seems that way. I'd better let Kodos know. We're going to need those aspirants!'

Alaster leaned back in the seat as the coach pulled out from the car park. He was sat right at the back, along with Patreus. The coach had space for sixty people. With barely twenty, there was plenty of space. Two empty rows separated them from the next aspirant.

Alaster glanced out of the coach's rear window. Behind them, the Arbites were cleaning up the last of the injured rioters, loading them into secure ambulances. The press had arrived – a police cordon held them back in the distance. As he looked out of the window, Alaster caught a glimpse of the Immigration woman being taken away. He felt a moment of grim satisfaction – she'd tried to claim she'd dropped the shutters to protect the other customers but it hadn't been too convincing even then. Kodos had sniffed the air and told her he could smell her lie. Her face had crumpled after that.

It had taken two hours after the Arbites' belated arrival to even begin to sort the mess out. On being bombarded with questions by a junior officer, Kodos had finally completely lost his temper, ranting at the startled lieutenant. The man had ceased his questions after that. Then there were the injured to consider. Three cadets had been seriously injured – two with broken arms and one who needed hospitalisation. Splints and healing casts had been obtained from the Thunderhawk for the broken arms – with those, they should recover in a day or two, Kodos had said. The remaining cadet had been loaded on a stretcher and carried to the Thunderhawk. He'd been beaten badly and there was evidence of internal bleeding. Kodos said he didn't trust Gamma's hospitals to sort it out. The cadet would be flown back to Delta for treatment; for him, the war was over before it had even begun. The sergeant had said he'd be there for the afternoon – apparently the transport would be making a Warp jump on the way back. Chaplain Fellack would be taking the news of the riot to the Ravenholme personally.

Kodos had then martialled the coach into the car park and had put the remaining aspirants on it. Alaster had stumbled aboard, still winded from the fight. The exertion hadn't done his adjustment to Gamma's conditions any favours.

The coach pulled out onto the road. Alaster breathed a sigh of relief as the spaceport buildings fell away behind them. The road ran through the middle of a dusty landscape, the bare soil broken by scrubby plants. To the west he could still see Secundus; to the east were some tired-looking hills. Other than that, the landscape was dreary. To think – this was some of the most fertile land on Gamma! Back on Delta, Alaster doubted anyone would even have bothered with it.

The sun shone overhead, large and bright in the dark blue sky. A few wispy clouds floated near the zenith. Rain looked unlikely today.

Alaster leaned back in the chair, resting his head against the back. On his lap sat a slate. It more tales of the Chapter's illustrious history on it. They were supposed to be reading up on the way south. After this morning's fight, Alaster found he just didn't care. He was trying not to think too much about it, what had happened and what he had seen. What he had done. It was weird, the morning already felt remote, like something that happened in a dream.

Alaster mainly just felt exhausted. His arms were aching from wielding the mop. Various new bruises protested across his chest and shoulders. The healing plaster over his knife wounds had numbed the pain, leaving a cool tingling sensation.

'How are you doing?' Patreus asked him. They were sat next to each other, the aisle down the middle of the coach next to Patreus.

Alaster groaned. 'Worn out. This morning – that was weird.'

'Yeah. Our first fight.' Patreus actually sounded pleased. 'I think I did all right.'

'All right? That's all you're worried about? For the Emperor's sake, we killed six people this morning! And hurt goodness knows how many others.'

'They attacked us.' Patreus shrugged. 'We didn't provoke it. Given that we're doing the Emperor's work, I don't have any issues with it.'

'Patreus – that's what the Originists would say, too.'

'Well, they're wrong.' Patreus shrugged like it was self-evident. 'I mean, they had to drug people to get them to do that. If you need any more evidence, just look at that.'

'They do something bad so it's okay for us to as well? Lovely.'

'They left us no choice. You must agree – the way you're talking, I'd almost think you were having second thoughts. About being here, I mean.'

Alaster sighed. 'I'm beginning to wonder if I even had first thoughts.'

Patreus said, 'Look, this morning was hardly typical-'

'Typical? Typical is meaningless here. Look, so far, two thirds of us have been failed or walked away. Three of us were shot by our own side. We haven't slept properly in ages, the sanitary facilities are rubbish and now we've had people trying to kill us. And do you know what? We're barely even into the third week of our training! To top it all off I may even have killed a couple of people this morning – but I'm not sure because there was too much blood on the bodies to tell! I don't know what to think anymore.'

He twisted round and glared out of the back window. The road was still largely empty. There was a single car some way back. It was white. It looked battered, its paintwork scratched here and there. A prominent aerial was mounted on its roof. Alaster turned his head back, leaning it on the rest again. He folded his arms, breathing tiredly.

'I joined because of the monastery.' Patreus spoke quietly. He looked away from Alaster, fidgeting. He shuffled in his seat, seeming uncomfortable.

'The monastery? I thought you liked it there.'

Patreus snorted. 'I came to hate it.'

'I thought – you what?'

'I'm an orphan,' Patreus said quietly. 'My parents – they worked for a bank. One of the big Imperial ones, headquarters on Holy Terra, branches everywhere, that sort of thing. They were high up in the local management. One day they had to go to another system – some big banking conference or something. They had their own chartered ship, contracted Navigators, everything.'

Alaster whistled. 'That's serious money.'

Patreus nodded. 'Yes. That's what the pirates must have thought, I guess. Or maybe they thought a banker's ship carry gold or something. Anyway, they attacked, crippled the ship and killed everyone on it. Everyone except a baby – me. The pirates sacked the ship then abandoned it. A Navy frigate answered the distress calls, a little later. They found me. I was taken back to Octalis. They couldn't trace any relatives, so I was given to Saint Thaulin's.'

'It sounds like you were lucky. You know, afterwards.'

'When I was young I was so grateful. This place had taken me in and looked after me. The monks were showing me a vocation. I had a secure life ahead of me – maybe not a luxurious one, but a secure one.'

'So is that why you're here? It was too boring?'

'No, you don't understand. My picture of the monastery was wrong. So were the monks.'

'Wrong how?'

'It was an old monastery. People had been coming there, for centuries. Looking for someone to pray for their souls. They'd been making donations. The money was given away at first, to the poor, but one of the abbots started taking a cut. The practise spread. By the time I got there, the place was basically a bank in denial.'

'But I thought monks led simple lives. What use was the money?'

'Drinking, whoring and gambling.'

'What?'

'You heard me right. The monastery had some sample cells, unheated, unglazed windows, bare floors, that sort of thing. Visitors would be shown the simple living conditions of the humble monks. But the only people in those cells were new novices. People like me.'

'Where did everyone else live?'

'The monastery had bought up a big tract of land. Behind the conning-visitors-building, there was a screen of trees. Beyond that was a block of luxury apartments. You know, three, four bedrooms, balconies, en-suite shower rooms and marble bathrooms, that sort of thing. That's where all the senior monks were.'

'That's – that's rather corrupt.'

'Yes it is, just a bit.'

'Surely people must have known about this? I mean, luxury bathroom plumbing'll need fixing every now and then, right?'

'Oh yeah, its existence wasn't actually secret, as such. The land deeds are public records – you could see them at the town registry office. The locals in Thaulinston sort of knew about it, but a lot of the visitors didn't. They were fooled by the spoof-monastery. Monstery, more like!'

'And the novices? Surely they'd, you know, revolt or something?'

'No. If you keep your mouth shut and play the game, eventually you get to live behind the trees. And in the meantime there was all the drinking and the feasting, over in the main block. Okay your cell would be drafty in the winter but you won't notice if you're blind drunk every night. Most of the novices were.'

'So the whole praying for souls thing…?'

'That's where it got really bad. You see, the monks just didn't bother. They took the cash, said thank-yee-very-muchly, took it away, shut the chapel door with an impressive clang – and then did nothing. I mean, their lives had no sacrifice to strengthen the prayers, so they'd have been pretty worthless anyway, you know? But it was still sickening, the brazenness of the fraud.'

'Surely the Church would have done something?'

'The Bishop came to visit one day. The Moderator of the Abbey got him drunk on fine rum. They partook of a five-course feast – then the Moderator introduced him to some of the prettiest girls from the local brothel. The Bishop seemed quite happy when he left in the morning – a bit tired, but cheerful enough. Guess he enjoyed his stay. I heard they replaced the Moderator's bed after that – having half a dozen people bouncing around did the slats in.'

'By the Emperor – that's appalling!'

'I think it's why things like the Originists are doing so well. The Church in this system has got lax. It's allowed a spiritual void to open up. People feel the lack and are trying to find ways to fill it. Unfortunately, some of them are dodgy.'

'All right – I can see why you left the monastery. But I don't quite grasp how this translates into becoming a marine.'

Patreus nodded. 'Okay. Look, I believe, you see? I genuinely believe in the Emperor and I believe His gospel. I genuinely want to serve Him and I want to serve Humanity. I thought I was, at the monastery, but I was just deluding myself. For a while I thought that if I stayed pure I wouldn't be tainted – but that was a lie. By standing by and doing nothing, I tainted myself. I should have spoken up, should have done something, should have told people about the prayer-fraud.'

'I doubt they'd have liked that.'

Matter-of-factly, Patreus said, 'They'd probably have killed me. But that's the price we may pay when we're called to bear witness. You see, by doing nothing, I sinned. And it didn't just hurt me, either. People were being told their sins would receive remission – when they weren't. No prayer, no remission.'

'You said the prayers would have been useless.'

'If someone genuinely deserved remission, I'm sure the Emperor would grant it. The point is, through their laziness and greed, the monks shut a door on other people. Not only did they throw their own souls away, they threw others'.'

Carefully, Alaster said, 'I think someone like Nasty wouldn't be convinced by that.'

Patreus lifted an eyebrow and nodded his head slowly. 'True. There is that. If you don't buy the idea that we have immortal souls in the first place, then the whole thing is a storm in a tea cup. But even then, you still have a crime – false advertising, obtaining money by deception and basically theft. It's still wrong from a human point of view – I think that would still be true, even in an Emperorless world.'

Alaster was stunned by the audacity of Patreus's comment.

Patreus looked at his gaping mouth and wide eyes. 'Didn't expect me to say that, did you? Look, Alaster, I've thought about this. Long and hard. I had lots of sleepless nights in the monastery.

'Now, consider a Space Marine. What use is money to him? He has his bolter, his armour and his mission – and he doesn't really need anything else. His material needs, such as they are, are met entirely by his chapter. Even if someone offered him money, there'd be no point taking it. What would he do with it? I mean, where would he even put the notes, let alone spend them? And what is there that he'd want to spend them on? My point, I guess, is that there's just nowhere for the same sort of corruption to start. Space Marines aren't going to be living in luxury flats behind a fake forest. Instead, they're out there, doing their job across the Imperium, protecting the rest of us.'

'But how does that help you?'

'I sinned. I stood by and did nothing, for years. There were any number of people I could have warned – and I didn't. That's on my conscience. But I can draw a line under it now. I don't have to compound the error. If I put selfishness aside and dedicate the rest of my life to helping others – maybe I can outweigh the damage of my apathy with my labours.'

'It does sound a longshot.'

'When the Selection happened, I felt good. I suddenly felt at peace. I knew I was doing the right thing, trying to qualify. Working as hard as I could. Trying to make something of myself, rather than just another venal fraud of a monk. Sneer at me if you want, but I think that was a sign. I think the Emperor showed me the right path that day. If even a sinner like me can be one of His chosen warriors, then maybe there's hope for all of us yet.'

'I don't mean to be a wet blanket, and this applies to me too, but the odds are kind of against you.'

'You know what I think? Part of the whole point of this training is to change our thinking. Make us think about what we can do, rather then what we can't. What's possible instead of what isn't. Take today's fight – a month ago, would you have thought you'd stand against a mob?'

Alaster was silent.

'See – hadn't thought about it like that, had you? If we don't just give up, if we actually try, then maybe, just maybe we'll manage something. New marines have to come from somewhere, you know. You and I have got this far - we're as good a bet as anyone else. Saying 'the odds are against us' or 'that's impossible' – self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps?'

Alaster nodded, slowly. 'Okay, I think I begin to understand.' Idly he glanced out of the back window. That white car – it was still there. He wondered if the occupants found the landscape as boring as he did.

'Okay,' Patreus said. 'I've poured out my soul. Your turn. Let's hear your story. Why are you here – still here, I mean?'

Alaster sighed. 'To be honest, it's kind of two things.'

'I'm listening.'

'Did you hear about my Selection?'

Patreus shook his head. 'Not exactly. I did hear some rumour about you beating up a Raven, or something.'

'I didn't exactly beat him up. I got a knife into his wrist – mainly by accident, to be honest. It drew blood. I'd challenged them to combat and because of that, I won.'

'That's not a bad result. And you can't have done it entirely by accident. They're pretty good at giving other people accidents, you know.'

'I challenged them to combat because I wanted to stand out. My family – they're good people, but boring. My parents work for the Administratum, compiling reports on planetary trade. Their parents worked there as well – the same building, the same office. My great-grandparents did too. The job's basically in the family now. Mid-level bureaucrats. And nothing else. No promotions, no progress. Hardly even any pay rises. And we're supposed to think of ourselves as the lucky ones!

'I was training for the same job. I had to do 'voluntary' work at their office after school. Filing and stuff. It was dull. I took to reading the reports – that's how I know so much about the economy and the politics and stuff around here. It was so tedious. I could feel myself rotting away and I'm not even sixteen yet!'

Patreus drummed his fingers on his slate. 'Okay, you wanted a change. Fair enough. But that's not just it, is it?'

'No. I – reading those reports, it made me think. I started paying attention in history lessons and stuff. I started taking the books back home with me and reading them – not easy in that flat.'

'Not easy?'

'Yeah, my parents' salaries aren't huge. It's a five room flat – two bedrooms, a shower room, a living room and a kitchen. There are two adults in the main bedroom and three children in the other one – well, two now, I guess. But it was cramped. Always noisy, always full of people banging around, going in and out.'

'Couldn't they get a bigger one?'

'Not really. Administratum salaries aren't the paradise everyone makes out. The higher-ups tell their staff they should be grateful for the chance to do the Emperor's work, and that work is its own reward. The only real advantages of it are that the pension's pretty good and the job is reasonably secure. Short of speaking heresy it's hard to get fired from the Administratum.'

'I heard department managers are paid quite well.'

'They are. They get a separate package. Consular rank and upwards, you're looking at ten times the junior staff salary. Apparently the same logic doesn't apply to them.'

'Hmm. A whiff of my monastery, maybe.'

'Yes, just a little. Point is, my parents could only afford that flat because they inherited some savings from my grandparents. Even then it's on a forty-year mortgage. They aren't moving any time soon.

'Anyway, at the Selection I hoped to break into one of the higher categories. If I could hit level six, or maybe even seven, they'd have to bump my grade up at the office. Can't have a seventh-level citizen pushing pens, can we! Plus I'd have a better chance at getting into the Guard.'

'The Guard?' Patreus blinked

'Yes. That's what I'd been aiming for. Selection for the Marines… I can honestly say I was more surprised than anyone else in that room!'

'So … how does the Imperial Guard come into this? I mean, I know Delta raises some regiments anyway - even though it's a Marine homeworld so technically it doesn't have to. But why the Guard?'

'You remember I mentioned the history books? Well when I was reading all of them, something struck me. The Imperium has too many heroes.'

'What?' Patreus blinked.

Alaster breathed deeply. The air was dry, climate-controlled. There was a faint scent of pine from some air conditioner somewhere. 'Hear me out. Let me see if I can explain this. Ideally, we wouldn't have any, right? Because we wouldn't need any. There'd be nothing to be heroic against. A nice, quiet, middle-class, suburban galaxy. Kind of like Ancient Terra, minus the nukes. No xenos, no heretics, no problems.

'Instead we have a raft of wars, some civil, some not so. And it's been like that for thousands of years. But for the bravery of so many people, the Empire would've fallen long ago.'

'Yes. And?'

Alaster shifted on the seat. The starchy fabric rasped at his pants. 'Well, you see, something else I noticed from the books. If you take out big things like the Heresy or the Reign of Blood, there are far more of those heroes in the last few millennia. And I don't think it's just bias in the records, either. The closer you get to the present, the more absurd heroics you read about. It's like the propaganda people are trying to hide what's really going on. Talk up the individual heroics so people won't think about the wider context. Kind of like not seeing the forest for the trees.'

'What do you mean by that?'

Alaster hesitated. 'This is going to sound a bit radical.'

'Go on.'

The bus's engine rumbled loudly. Alaster could hear the air conditioning humming in the background. He spoke quietly. 'I think the Imperium's falling.'

Patreus looked shocked. 'Falling? But there the news is full of victories!'

'Yes. Do you think they talk about the defeats? Look at this way. So many victories means so many wars. So many wars means the enemy keeps coming back. If they keep coming back – well, we can't be doing that well, can we?'

'Nasty would say so what? The Empire won't fall in your lifetime.'

'Yeah but Nasty's a cynical bastard. Look, let me tell you about some of the reports I used to read, at work. There was one about a banking crisis on Eta. The people there thought everything was fine – they kept on buying loans and houses and stuff, right up until the last day before the first bank went down.'

'This is news to me. I thought Eta was where all the rich people retire to. All those ski resorts and stuff.'

'This was a couple of centuries ago. But the point still stands. All the signs were there – rising debt, more defaults, dodgy things in the business bits of the papers. But hardly anyone read them right – even people in the industry. Right up till the night before Meltdown Day, they thought everything was fine. Then they woke up the next morning and the bottom dropped out of their world. By the end of that month they had millions out of work and the currency in freefall. That was when Eta came under the control of Delta – it was a separate planet, legally, until the government collapsed.

'I guess that's my point. You say I've pointed to a gradual problem. Even if I'm right, it's slow. The Imperium's huge. That's a lot of distance to cover. You say it can't affect me directly – I won't live long enough to see it.

'I say you're wrong. It can and it may.

'You see, it's not about physical size. It's about networks. Trade networks. Money networks. Travel networks. Our ships mostly go on charters, only between certain worlds – glorified buses. And that makes the trade system vulnerable to failure. Supposing someone attacks and takes a key planet – a node in that network? It's only one world in that sector. It doesn't sound important. But then the industrial planet rimwards can't export its goods any more and can't import enough food. Frankly, they're really skakked if that happens. Or take the agri-world corewards. They can't get new machine parts now the link's gone. And their key export is sat uselessly in barns and fields, waiting for ships that won't come. Okay, they're not starving, but they're faced with other issues. Do you see the problem?'

Patreus drummed his fingers again. 'So you're saying we could be one planet away from a total collapse – and not realise it?'

'Well, worst-case scenario – suppose, Emperor forbid, someone attacked Holy Terra. Or Mars. Suppose they pulled it off. If we lost either of those planets, we'd be screwed. The Imperium would fold overnight.'

'Those are dark things you say.'

'It's dark times we live in. My point is, putting my fingers in my ears and singing _la-la-la-la!_ loudly won't help me if the worst does happen. That's why I wanted to try for the Guard – I thought maybe I could make some sort of difference there, do something actually useful. Rather then rot away in an office, doing a job that doesn't really matter. I mean, let's be blunt – if the Economic Reports building burnt down, no-one'd notice. All we do is compile advisory dossiers for a Permanent Permanent Undersecretary and her Means and Facilitation Sub-Committee. And half the time the PPS doesn't even read the reports anyway. It's basically futile. But as a Guardsman – well, every xeno I shoot is one less who'll come back to plague us, see what I mean?'

Patreus nodded. 'Okay, I see your point.'

'And then what do I do but get myself Selected for the Space Marines! This is where things got a bit crazy. I mean, seriously, this wasn't something I planned. But I realised when it happened, this was better. I mean, if I reckoned I could be more use as a Guardsman then how much more use would I be as a Space Marine? You see?'

'Sort of.' Patreus shifted the slate from one knee to the other. 'You took advantage of the opportunity when it came up.'

'But then you get things like this morning. And, well, it's still going round in my head, you know? It makes me sort of wonder if all I've done is put myself somewhere I shouldn't be.'

Patreus tapped the slate. 'Well, I guess this morning shook you up. Me too, to be honest. But brooding on it isn't going to help.'

Alaster glanced over his shoulder. The road was still there, as was the white car. 'I don't see what else to do. I mean, playing I-spy's going to get a bit boring.'

'Well we're supposed to be reading this history file. Perhaps we should get on with it?'


	8. Chapter 8 The Gate in the Desert

'No I didn't. Why the hell would I waste my time on more history skak?'

Alaster resisted the urge to hit Nasty. His moaning was just one more annoyance – as if the desert's difficult conditions weren't enough. With a groan Alaster hauled himself up past the next rock. The sun beat down overhead, its heat merciless and its rays sharp. The sky was turquoise near the horizon, shading to a dark blue overhead. The thin air bore no clouds. The dry mountains and beige hills in the distance shimmered in a heathaze, rising from the valley below. The dry watercourse at its bottom seemed to mock the exhausted aspirants.

'Because it's important. Because we were told to. Because you could at least act like you care less.' Even Patreus sounded irritated. 'You do want to pass this course, don't you?'

'No, I just don't want to go to the gall – oww!' Nasty swore as he stubbed his toe on a sharp rock.

'And that's why you should pay attention!'

'To the rocks or your frigging history lessons?'

Alaster looked at the water bottle strapped to his belt. There was a third left. He touched his forehead – it was dry. It was hot here, like the jungle, but unlike the jungle your sweat just dried straight away. 'We need to stop,' he said. 'There's an overhang just there – some shade. We need to drink some water.'

For once, Nasty didn't argue. They clambered into the small patch of shade. The sudden coolness was welcome. Alaster moved to the back of the small space and leaned against a shelf of rock. He unscrewed the bottle and sipped some water. His arms were red and sore from sunburn. He'd made the mistake of rolling up the sleeves of his tunic to try and stay cool. Unfortunately, that had just exposed him to more of the sun's ultraviolet. Not only was this planet closer to the sun, it also had less air between the ground and space. It wasn't a good combination. He had a nasty case of sunburn. It made you wonder how anyone managed to live here.

Wincing, he poured some water over the sore limbs. The temporary coolness brought some relief. Alaster gulped some more of the cold liquid, then carefully screwed the cap on his bottle. Best not to lose any of the precious water. He hooked it back to his belt then rolled his sleeves down. The tough fabric rasped on the damaged skin but he figured the shade would do it good. In a small concession to health and safety, the aspirants had all been issued with broad-rimmed hats on arrival here – Alaster's face was the one bit of exposed skin not a furious red.

He looked again at his lurid wrists. 'Roll on power armour,' he muttered.

'What was that?' said Patreus.

'Nothing, just talking to myself. Hey, Nasty, pass us the map.'

Nasty dug it out of his belt and chucked it over. The paper was scored with deep folds. Alaster unfolded the rustling sheet. He noted a couple of landmarks on the hills opposite and matched them against the map. 'We're here. Great. Seven klicks. In a day.'

'That's rubbish,' Patreus said.

'It's the terrain. We can't expect to make good time through this.' Alaster sighed with frustration. 'I don't know how we're going to get to the point in five days.' The point he meant was the rendezvous point. If they got there on time, they'd have won their portion of the escape and evasion exercise.

'Skak this,' Nasty muttered. He sat down on a protruding rock, breathing hard. It was their second day since the bus had dropped them off and they were feeling the strain. As the road had wound on, civilisation had fallen further and further behind. The white car had stayed with them for some time but even it had turned away after a while. Shortly after that the road had given way to a dirt track – the coach had struggled on it. Alaster had managed to get some sleep on the journey, so that had been a positive outcome, but more than a dozen hours on a coach had left him sore and tired.

'Let's take a break here,' Patreus suggested.

Alaster nodded. 'Good idea.'

With visible reluctance, Nasty said to Patreus, 'So what did I miss?'

'Well the slate had the actual story about what happened with the Ultramarines.'

'I thought we knew that. They stalked off during the Founding.'

'That's the public version. The real story's worse…'

Alaster tugged off his backpack. He dug through it for his rations. He opened one of the readymeal bags. Inside the foil was some sort of cheese and some biscuits. Shrugging, he sat down against the smooth stone to eat.

As he ate he half-listened to Patreus and Nasty. Patreus's voice still had undertones of shock – the real story of the Ultramarines' abandonment had angered him. Abandonment was the only term for it. Captain Lucius Julius Cato, the man who walked away from his responsibilities. It did have a whiff of internal politics, Alaster had to concede that much. Apparently the captain had a rival, whose company were deployed on a crusade while he was sent to babysit the new chapter. He'd taken it as an insult. Then when a couple of minor mutations were found in the Ravens' geneseed, he'd had the excuse he'd needed. Alaster thought it was a bit of an overreaction – apparently even the Inquisition had concluded that the mutations were insignificant. If even they weren't bothered then no-one else had any excuse. And it was also known that Cato hadn't conferred with the Lord of Macragge first, before walking out. It would put the Ultramarines Chapter Master in a difficult place, Alaster had to admit – publicly undermine one of his own officers by reprimanding him or do nothing? Still, they should really have sent someone else instead, someone a bit less dogmatic and a bit more flexible. That they hadn't done, seemingly trying to pretend that the whole affair never happened.

Thank the Emperor for the Raven Guard and the Space Wolves.

Still, Alaster supposed, it didn't seem to have done the chapter any harm. Admittedly their tactics and organisation were unusual, but if those were flaws then five thousand years of war would have shown that by now. The Ravens were still fighting, still bringing the storm, after fifty centuries. There were planetary civilisations that had lasted less time than that. Maybe, in an odd sort of way, the chain of events had even been the Emperor's will.

Alaster stuffed the last of the cheese into his mouth. He crunched down on a few more biscuit crumbs. Then the food was gone. He washed it down with another swig of water, replacing cap and bottle to his belt after he was done. With a grunt he pulled himself to his feet.

'The map says the terrain's impassable beyond here, to our west,' Alaster said. 'I'm going to go and have a look. You never know – maybe it's not so bad.'

'What's the point?' Nasty growled.

'The point? It'll save us some time if we can cut through there. See you in a bit. I'll take my vox so we can stay in touch.' He patted the small communications device hung from his belt.

'See you later,' Patreus said.

Alaster scrambled out from the overhang.

There was a slope of scree to his left. It was greyish – it reminded Alaster of the first of those dreams from on the transport. It wasn't a welcome reminder. Grimacing, he picked his way up it. The little stones scrunched and slid under foot. He had to lean forward to keep his balance.

Chest heaving, Alaster reached the crest of the slope. Stars were dancing before his eyes. He had to sit down to get his breath back. Even at sea-level on this planet, the air was no thicker than Delta's was at two thousand metres. They were some way up here, on these hills. The added altitude wasn't helping.

'Skak,' Alaster muttered. 'Thought I'd got used to it!'

He looked around. He was in a saddleback depression between two local peaks. Beyond there was another dip in the land, with further slopes on the other side. Supposedly it should be full of jagged rocks and deadfalls. The little valley looked surprisingly smooth.

Puzzled, Alaster looked down. There were smooth curved etched into the dirt. Flood tracks. There'd been a flood up here, after one of the rare rainstorms. That explained where all the rocks had gone, then. They'd been swept away by the force of the water.

Alaster brightened. Perhaps there was a way through, after all!

He got up and made his way carefully down the other side. The valley wasn't wide, at most five metres. He set off along it. After a few moments, he heard a clink and felt his boot connect with a solid object in the dirt. His foot had caught on whatever it was. He stepped back, expecting to see a big stone or something. He looked down.

Alaster blinked. There was an object, sticking up out of the dried mud. As he bent down, he could feel the sun on his neck. It was hot. The air had a dry and clean scent. He breathed deeply.

Curiosity rising, he squatted down.

The dirt was fragile. He was able to brush it away from the object with his hand. It was caked with beige dust. It was hard to make out its shape in the bright light.

He leaned over it, to shade it. He brushed some dirt away.

A layer of material was revealed. It had a smooth, matte finish. It was a dark purple-black in colour. Alaster frowned and brushed some more dirt away.

'Skak!' He pulled back his bleeding finger, sucking the little cut. There was a bizarre blade-thing attached to the surface! Alaster stared at the weird thing. He felt a breeze. The wind moaned eerily through the rocks above the little valley.

Carefully, Alaster removed the rest of the dirt, prizing the object from the ground. Once it came free, its identity was obvious enough – but that raised further questions. It was a gauntlet. It was long and slender – Alaster compared the fingers against his hand. They were too narrow. Whoever this had belonged to, they had to have been all-but-morbidly skinny.

If the dimensions of the object weren't odd enough, it had peculiar little blades mounted along its sides. Alaster was reminded of the knuckledusters built into Thaddeus's gauntlets, except more vicious. Turning the gauntlet upwards and looking into it, Alaster noted that it was rather thin. Carefully, he squeezed on it with his hand. Yes – he felt it give slightly. Weird. If even his pathetic muscles were too much for it, it was hard to see what use it was supposed to be.

He dropped it back to the dirt. He looked around, wondering where it had come from. It had clearly been there for a while, presumably since the flood.

The flood.

His eyes tracked the watery zig-zags up the valley. The bed sloped upwards in front and to his left. The flood had come down from there. He could see it in the water marks as they rose higher on the narrower sides of the valley.

Alaster looked up to the top of the slope. Carefully, he made his way up. The wind moaned behind him, making the edges of his tunic flutter. The dirt shushed under foot. He reached the top.

The top was a gap between two rocky walls. A wide, more-or-less flat area existed beyond. The sides of the gap were vertical for several metres.

Too vertical.

His senses engaged, Alaster looked closely at the rock next to him. It was smooth, as if it had been cut. There were scores and scratches and dirt, but it was still too regular for nature. Feeling tense, he walked forward.

The rock corridor extended three metres on from the top of the valley. Alaster stopped at the end. Here the carving was unmistakable. The corners of the rock faces had a faint impression of columns carved into them. Only they were weird columns, with fluted, writhing designs on their sides. They seemed organic, almost alive, even beneath the coating of dirt.

Alaster stepped out from the corridor.

He was in a wide, semi-circular space. Its artificial nature was undeniable. It was easily a hundred metres wide along the straight side, with the far end of the semicircle about fifty metres away. He was stood near the centre of the semicircle. All around, grey rock walls rose up. Along the edges of the walls there rose the occasional rocky spur, like vast bones or the wrecked girders of some fallen ceiling. Faint impressions of columns and other decorations were carved into the walls. There was something unearthly, something alien about the place. In spite of the heat, Alaster shivered.

The wind whistled again. It made Alaster jump, heart beating.

He looked to the middle of the space. He stared at what he saw.

There was a bizarre structure, like one side of an arch. It rose out from the wall behind it, leaning out into the air like an inverted buttress. Its base protruded, like as straight as a knife, from the wall. There were ovoid structures emerging from its sides. It towered up nearly a dozen metres, reaching over and out into a kind of hooked end. Alien runes were carved into its sides.

'Oh skak,' Alaster whispered.

Something caught his eye in the light dusting of sand below. Bootprints. Not his. From the lack of obscuration, they were recent.

Alaster saw the shadow almost too late. A sudden black line, swinging into his view. He spun to one side. The length of pipe sailed through where his head had been.

A man was just behind him. He had a frenzied look of hate on his face. His shirt was torn and dirty and his trousers looked hard-worn. There was a pendant around his neck – oh no. An eagle with a DNA strand.

'Die, species traitor!' the man shouted, swinging his pipe.

Alaster ducked again. What the hell was this skakker doing here?

As he ducked, the man bellowed with rage. He swung once more. Alaster sprang back. The man reached forwards – too far forwards.

Alaster reached out and grabbed the pipe as it passed. He pulled on it, hard. The man slipped and stumbled. Alaster jerked the pipe from his hand.

He brought it down hard on the back of the man's head. It connected with a loud crack. The sound echoed in the alien space. The man toppled to the ground. He rolled over, a dazed expression on his face.

Alaster rested a foot on his chest. 'You don't pick fights with Space Marines,' he said. 'Even trainee ones. That's just stupid. Consider that smack today's idiot tax bill.'

He looked again at the weird half-arch in the near distance. Something caught his eye near the base. Some sort of equipment, pipes, flasks and wires. The apparatus glinted chrome in the shade. It was obviously human.

Alaster reached for his vox unit. He thumbed it on and brought it to his lips. 'Patreus, Nasty, you better get up here.'

Patreus's voice emerged from the speaker, scratchy with static. 'What is it?'

'I think we've got a situation.' He told them how to find him.

A few tense minutes later, the other two aspirants arrived.

'Holy throne,' Patreus murmured, staring at their surroundings.

'Yes,' Alaster agreed. 'And look what I found.' He pointed at the stunned Originist under his foot.

Patreus's jaw dropped. 'What in the green hills of Terra is one of them doing here?'

'No good, I bet.'

Nasty was staring at the half-arch. 'This is beyond us,' he said.

'Call the sergeant,' Patreus said.

Alaster nodded. He lifted the vox. They'd been told not to bother Kodos unless it was an emergency – but this might just count.

Trying to remember the vox discipline that had so-briefly been explained to them, Alaster lifted the handset to his mouth. He felt tense. He looked nervously at the arch. Was it just him or did it somehow seem more menaching? He tapped Kodos's name on the menu and muttered a quick prayer to the machine-spirit. Then he hit the 'call' button. 'Uh, Section Karo to, uh, Command One. Section Lead calling. Uh. Over.'

Moments later the vox crackled. Kodos's familiar, irritable voice answered. 'Command One. What the skak is it? You better have a good reason for disturbing me. Over.'

Alaster wanted to cry out with relief. 'Lead here. Uh, Sergeant, I think we've got a situation. Over.'

'Command. The situation's that I'm going to smack you for wasting my time. Now get off the line. Over.'

'Lead. No, Sergeant, listen to me. We've got an Originist prisoner and we've got a – well, I don't know what the skak it is, actually, but it's huge. Over.'

'Command. You have a prisoner? Confirm. Over.'

'Lead. One prisoner, adult male, looks to be about thirty-ish. He was already on the scene. He attacked. I disabled him. Over.'

There was a long pause. 'Command. Okay, what are your co-ordinates? Over.'

Alaster read them off.

'Command. That's supposed to be impassable. Explain. Over.'

'Lead. Seems it isn't impassable anymore, Sergeant. Looks like a flood washed away all the barriers. Over.'

'Command. Message received. Hold your position and for the Emperor's sake, keep that prisoner where you can see him. I'll be with you shortly. Roger and out.' Kodos clicked off. The crackling hiss of the vox died.

His hand shaking with relief, Alaster lowered the box.

'He's coming,' he said.

Kodos arrived about an hour later. Much to Alaster's surprise, he dropped in out of the sky. He'd picked up a jump pack from somewhere. He descended on two downward-firing exhaust plumes, kicking up a cloud of dust. The jets hissed as he landed. Dust swirled into the air in an impressive cloud. It made Alaster cough.

He was careful not to take his foot off the prisoner, though.

There was abrupt silence as the jets cut off. Kodos pulled off his helmet and looked around. Alaster noted he had a satchel slung over one shoulder. Then he started swearing. His eyes had fastened on the half-arch. 'Well isn't this just a skakking picture,' he observed colourfully.

'The prisoner's here, Sergeant,' Alaster offered.

Kodos glanced over, his face almost dismissive. 'Oh – so he is. Frankly, he's basically irrelevant now. That, however, isn't.' He pointed at the arch.

Alaster frowned. 'I don't understand, Sergeant.'

'You never were too bright, were you, Karo?' Kodos's sarcasm was spoken in a strangely off-hand way. He seemed – Alaster didn't want to say it but the warrior seemed genuinely concerned. He hadn't taken his eyes off the arch.

'But it's just a stone arch,' Alaster said. 'I mean, yeah, it's weird, but surely-'

'No, it's not "just" an arch. It's called a webway gate. It is very definitely not just an arch. It's a xeno artefact.'

'Xenos? But this is Gamma!'

'Your point being?'

'This – this is a human world. It's been settled since M37. No-one'd let aliens build stuff here!'

'The gate was probably here long before the colonists.'

'But – but it'd be thousands of years old!'

Kodos shrugged. 'Possibly millions.'

Alaster gawped.

Kodos surveyed the three startled aspirants. 'All right. It's like this. Once upon a time the Eldar were a significant player, not today's pathetic wreckage. They went across the galaxy and littered it with these things. Some people even say there are some on the Motherworld herself, if you know where to look. These things form a network, a travel network. Kind of like a sort of Warp-subway. Walk in one here, walk out the Emperor only knows where. They still use it to get around – or bits of it, anyway.'

'And it's just been – sat here, for millennia? Out in the rain and wind?'

'Not much rain here. But no, I don't think it's been in the open. Look at those rocky struts, around the edges of the walls. I reckon this was underground at one point, a cavern or something. Just like the Eldar to hide their sneaky little backdoor away.'

Patreus spoke. 'I thought the Purge got rid of all the gates in the sector.'

'Well they obviously missed this one, didn't they? And if it was underground, no wonder.'

'Skak me,' Nasty muttered, staring at the gate.

'I'd rather not, Cadet Sandy.' Kodos was amused and contemptuous at the same time. 'I know all too well where you've been – and who with. Karo – was there anything else, anything you haven't mentioned?'

'Uh – there was something. I found something out there, in the valley.' Alaster pointed. 'It led me up here. A sort of glove, except weird.'

'Where is it?'

'About thirty paces down, outside the corridor.' Alaster waved his hand again. 'Straight that way.'

'Okay. Don't move – I'll be back.' The jets on the jump pack hissed into life. Kodos sprung into the sky.

Nasty was staring with visible awe. 'Wow,' he said. 'Think of the banks you could rob with one of those! No-one'd ever catch you!'

'Do you want one?' Patreus asked. There was a crafty tone in his voice.

Nasty didn't seem to notice. 'Oh hell yes!'

'All Storm Ravens start on assault duty, you know. That means the Chapter gives you a jump pack.'

'They _give_ you one?' Nasty stared.

'Yeah. You just have to qualify first. You know, pass the training.'

'Huh. I didn't realise that. Maybe it'd be worth sticking around a bit longer…' Nasty looked back up at the sky. He walked slowly to the middle of semi-circle, still staring up. He seemed lost in thought.

Alaster looked at Patreus. Quietly, he said, 'Smooth.'

Patreus grinned. 'I have my moments.'

There was a rising hiss and a faint crunch. Kodos landed with another burst of dust. He was holding the gauntlet and his face was filled with rage.

Alaster felt his stomach drop. He wondered what he'd done wrong now. He tensed, waiting for the verbal explosion. Then he realised Kodos wasn't looking at him. The sergeant was glaring at the arch. 'You bastards,' he said quietly. 'You xeno bastards – think you're clever, do you? Well we'll see about that.' Then he noticed Nasty. 'Cadet Sandy!' There was command in Kodos's voice. Nasty twitched and looked up. 'What did I say? You know, "don't move"? Get your skakking arse back over here! Now!'

Nasty, for once, didn't argue. He trotted over.

With his free hand, Kodos dumped the satchel to the ground. The flap sagged open. It revealed guns! The metal of bolt pistols gleamed dully in the sharp sunlight. There was a faint smell of oil with a hint of woodsmoke.

'Arm yourselves,' Kodos told them. 'Take a bolt pistol each and spilt the spare ammo between you.'

Alaster and the others did as they were told. Moments later Alaster found himself awkwardly cradling a gun, with several spare magazines shoved into his belt.

'Uh, Sergeant, what's going on?' he asked.

'You don't know what this came off of, do you?' the sergeant asked rhetorically. He held the gauntlet up to the sun. It looked evil, the vicious blades shining in the sun. 'It belonged to a so-called Dark Eldar. They're an offshoot or a faction or something of the normal Eldar. They're bad enough by themselves but this lot are truly vile scum. And it seems they've been sneaking about on one of our planets. This is an outrage. Obviously they've been using that gate, not long ago it appears. Presumably they only re-discovered it recently, or we'd have heard more about it by now. I guess chappy here must have got caught in the flood – probably the rest of him is buried under the debris somewhere. We'll have to find the body, of course – Karo! Is this yours?'

Alaster blinked. Kodos had noticed the little speck of dried blood on the blade.

'Uh, yes sergeant, I nicked myself. Just a little.'

'Let's see. Come on, show me your hand.'

Why did he want to look at such a tiny cut? Alaster felt baffled. Nonetheless he offered his hand. Kodos tossed the gauntlet away. It landed with a thud in the dirt, a few paces away. He dug a device out from his belt. He ran it over Alaster's hand. It made some beeping noises. Kodos looked at something.

'Been feeling a little chilly?' he asked. 'You know, a bit twitchy? The odd shiver, now and then?'

Alaster realised he had been feeling a bit weird. He'd put it down to the strangeness of this place but Kodos was right. 'Uh, yes, Sergeant.'

Kodos nodded. 'Thought so. That's what the poison will do, in these doses.'

'Poison!?' Alaster couldn't keep a quaver out of his voice.

'They coat their weapons in all sort of foulness. The auspex confirms it. Luckily for you, most of it must've rubbed off. You've only had a tiny dose – don't look so alarmed. If it was going to kill you, you'd know by now. Still, I'm going to give you a shot anyway.' Kodos replaced the auspex into a pouch. He pulled out an applicator. He grabbed Alaster's wrist and shoved the tube against a blood vessel. The applicator hissed and Alaster felt an intense stinging. 'There – that's the antidote, in your system. Straight to the blood.' Kodos put the applicator away. He dug out a plaster. 'And I'm putting this over your cut. They can smell these poisons – doesn't hurt to play safe. This should block the scent.' He sealed the plaster over Alaster's finger. He let the aspirant's hand go. He stepped back. 'I'm going to call in the Chapter, for reinforcements. This is serious.'

'But – but Delta's millions of klicks away! They'll take forever!' Nasty looked alarmed.

'No they won't. Rapid response is what we do. When the Chapter gets this message it'll be Warp jumps and drop pods all the way. There'll be a force here in five hours, or I'm a big girl's blouse.' Alaster choked at that mental image. 'However, that still means five hours. And we can't let this thing go unwatched. With any luck nothing's going to come through – but don't bet on it.'

'Skak,' Alaster breathed.

'Yeah, good word there,' Kodos agreed. 'You three – take watch. Do it now! I have a call to make.'

He put his helmet back on.

Alaster, Nasty and Patreus spread out, looking uneasily at the gate. Alaster rubbed the plaster with a finger. He caught himself doing it. To stop himself he shifted the bolt pistol into a two-handed grip.

He realised he could overhear Kodos. It seemed the sergeant had forgotten to silence his helmet speaker.

'…yes, damn your eyes, get the throne-damned astropath out of bed! No, I don't care if it's four in the morning where you are! I'd be up then anyway!'

There was a pause in the invective.

'So skakking what if I'm a bastard? That doesn't get you out of doing your job, bureaucrat!' Kodos made the word sound like the deepest insult imaginable. 'Tell him it's a Case Sleepwalking Red situation. That's right – Sleepwalking Red.'

Another pause.

'Thank the Emperor for that – about time you started listening.'

Another pause.

'Is that the astropath? About time. Yes, planetary security is endangered. You did hear right. I need you to send this message through Node Twelve, Ravenholme Conduit. Got that? Good. You're to send these exact words…'

Kodos rattled off an incomprehensible sequence of code words. 'Got that? Good. As soon as you get a response, call me back.'

Movement caught Alaster's eye. A dusty shape darted toward the gate. Oh no! The prisoner! Alaster had forgotten all about him. He took off after the man.

'Karo! What the skak are you doing!' He heard Kodos's roar but it was falling behind him.

The Originist was running for the apparatus. Alaster could see the determined set of the man's shoulders. He must have come out of his daze while they were talking to Kodos. He must have waited for his would-be guards to be distracted then made his move. Alaster had to admire the man's monomania. What did he hope to accomplish?

Oh skak. Alaster saw it. The man was running for the apparatus. Lights glowed on its control panel. The man was bolting straight for it.

God but he was fast. Alaster was having trouble keeping up. His feet pounded into the dirt. His lungs gasped in the thin air.

Dimly he heard the sergeant shout, 'Shoot him, you skakker!'

Alaster abruptly remembered the bolt pistol he was carrying. He skidded to a holt, bringing it up. He began to sight.

Sighting on a person.

The sights were lined up on the back of a fellow human being's head. Alaster had a peculiar hyperawareness. He realised he could see every individual strand of hair. He could see the skin on the man's neck. He could see the muscles moving underneath the shirt.

He realised he'd just been told to kill that man.

His heart was hammering inside his ribcage. Alaster could feel his legs shaking. He felt sick. It wasn't like the other day. Then he'd just been defending himself. But shooting, in cold blood-

'Shoot, damn you!'

The man heard Kodos too. He leapt for the apparatus.

The gun slammed back into Alaster's hands. The air filled with its roar. The muzzle flare left afterimages in Alaster's eyes.

He'd fired on instinct. The man's back exploded. The bolt ripped through flesh and bone without distinction. Blood and viscera sprayed out.

Alaster dropped to his knees. His stomach heaved. This time he didn't quite vomit. After a short period of dazedness, he hauled himself to his feet.

The remains of the man's body were sprawled across the apparatus. The damage the bolt had done to unprotected human flesh was incredible. He was basically gone between the shoulders and the pelvis. Alaster looked at the gun, gripped in his shaking hand. If nothing else, he supposed it had been quick.

He looked back at the body.

The man's head was on the console. Oh no. The pattern of lights across it was changing. A whirring noise rose somewhere inside the apparatus. No, no, no.

Alaster turned and ran back toward Kodos and the aspirants.

'If you take that long to shoot-' Kodos began.

'The machine! It's doing something! Sergeant!' Hardly able to believe his own audacity, Alaster cut the Space Marine off. 'Look!' He pointed.

Kodos looked. He said something unrepeatable. The plasma pistol was suddenly in his hand. He pointed it at the apparatus. He pulled the trigger. Light bloomed from the gun.

A blossom of incandescent gas slammed into the machinery. It erupted in flames. Molten parts dribbled out. Half-melted, its smoking wreckage sagged into uselessness. A faint smell of ozone and burning wafted through the air.

Alaster's shoulders sagged with relief. Whatever foul purpose it had been for, it was now defeated. 'Thank the Emperor,' he gasped tiredly.

'Not so fast,' Kodos said. His voice was bleak.

His heart in his mouth, Alaster turned and looked. What he saw made him want to cry. The runes on the sides of the gate had started glowing. Fitfully, slowly, the ancient machine was coming to life.


	9. Chapter 9 Battle for the Gate

Kodos glanced at his auspex. 'Thirty millitheres,' he said. 'That's up four in the last minute. Hurry up, lads.'

Chest heaving, Alaster rushed past the sergeant, carrying the rock. He set it down on top of the improvised breastwork to Kodo's left.

'How long – have we got – Sergeant?' he panted.

'About five minutes, I reckon,' Kodos replied. He looked at the breastwork. 'Okay – not as high as I'd like, but it's going to have to do. See those two big ones on the ground? Put them in the middle of the wall. You'll have something to shelter behind between shots. Then do the same for the second breastwork.'

'Yes Sergeant!' the three aspirants chorused. As they worked, Alaster risked a look at the gate. The runes' glow was bright now, a steady bluish-white. They looked almost radioactive. Even more ominously, something was happening below the hooked end. A jagged fork of light reached down, about halfway to the ground. It crackled and fizzed like trapped lightning, wriggling back and forth. At its terminus is discharged into a circular distortion, as if some invisible lens was suspended from it. The rocks behind were smeared and distorted, the distortions worsening toward the centre. The colours were weird too – at the edges the distant rock seemed almost normal but as your eye moved toward the centre the colours darkened and reddened. The distortion's edge was presently a metre off the ground – but when Alaster first looked, it had been three or four. It was expanding with an eerie, silent speed.

Alaster had asked why it was taking so long. Kodos had said something about it needing to build up enough power to 'tunnel across the potential barrier', whatever that meant. The upshot was, they had a short time in which to prepare. Whatever the Originists' machine had actually been intended for, Alaster had no idea. He only hoped this was some accidental by-product – could anyone really be evil enough to draw aliens to their own world?

Nasty had asked hopefully if they could have heavier guns. Kodos had told them they weren't ready for heavier weapons yet. 'I'd give you bolters if you could use them,' he'd said, 'and if we had any to hand.' That had been that.

A few more minutes of heaving rocks passed. Alaster's arms were sore from the effort but he barely noticed the discomfort. His stomach was a tight knot of worry and he could hear his pulse, thundering in his ears.

'Fifty millitheres,' Kodos announced. 'They'll be here soon. Positions!'

The aspirants scrambled to get in position. There were two breastworks, on either side of the corridor. The plan was to use the corridor itself as a grenade sump, if necessary. Alaster and Patreus had the breastwork to the right, Nasty and the sergeant to the left. Alaster squatted behind the wall of stone, his head next to one of the improvised firing shields. He held his bolt pistol up in nervous readiness.

Alaster was positioned furthest to the right of any of the four. He glanced over to his side. Patreus had his eyes focused on the gate. He seemed calm. His lips were moving silently in some private prayer. Alaster envied him his equanimity. Looked beyond he noticed Nasty's head, just visible above the breastwork. Nasty seemed excited – he kept glancing at the bolt pistol he held.

Next to him was the enormous figure of Kodos. The sergeant was holding his plasma pistol, the vents glowing with their characteristic unsteady light. His helmeted head was tilted slightly to the side, as if listening to something.

'Small update, lads,' Kodos said. 'Reinforcements are due in three hours and forty-six minutes. I've also called back the other aspirants. We'll see who's remembered to keep their vox on.'

'Four hours,' Alaster murmured, unconsciously.

'Yes, Karo, I heard that,' Kodos snapped. 'Stay focused.'

Alaster twitched in embarrassment. He looked again at the gate. The distortion was visibly larger. It wasn't far from the ground now – maybe a foot, if even that.

'Three hours, forty-six minutes,' Kodos repeated. 'Much of that is getting the drop pods lined up for launch. We'll probably have orbital fire support, oh, whole minutes before that. This is easy, lads. Not even four hours. That's all we have to do.'

The distortion crept further down. The bloody core at its centre was so reddened as to be almost black now.

'Fifty millitheres,' Kodos said. 'Get your pistols lined up. Take the safeties off.'

Alaster raised his pistol, sighting down it as instructed. Suddenly the lessons onboard the ship jumped into his head. He was surprised by how well he remembered them. He held the gripping hard, just short of shaking. As he'd been shown. He lined the distortion up along the body of the weapon.

'Fifty-five millitheres,' Kodos said. 'It's accelerating. Any minute now.'

The distortion reached the ground. The black core expanded, like blood leaking into water. The air smelt of ozone. Alaster felt twitchy, like the moments before a thunderstorm. He noticed a couple of sparks on the metal of his gun.

It was hard to describe what he saw next. Without a sound, the blackness in the distortion rippled and tore. It was like someone pulling a curtain open – suddenly there was a neat, circular hole to somewhere else. The only sound was a pop of equalising air pressure.

'They're here,' Kodos said. 'Get ready to bring the storm, Ravens.'

Ravens - where? Alaster did a double-take as he realised Kodos meant _them_. The aspirants. The sergeant had just addressed them as if they were Marines! For a moment, awe replaced fear. Alaster straightened up. He fought a brief urge to dust off his tunic.

'I see them,' he heard Nasty say.

Alaster looked at the distortion – no, the portal. It was darker on the other side so he had trouble making out the details. Nonetheless, he saw the approaching xenos. They were roughly human-shaped, but much thinner. They were tall. They moved with a sort of alien grace. They were wearing spiked and barbed armour, like the gauntlet he'd seen earlier. They carried wicked-looking guns. The barrels were long and tapering, marked with striations and vicious spines. Alaster swallowed. This was real.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

As if reading his mind, he heard Kodos say, 'Wait until they clear the portal. It might shield them from our fire.'

Consciously, Alaster relaxed his finger.

'Hunger,' Patreus whispered.

Alaster glanced quizzically over. Patreus's eyes were ufocused. 'Hunger,' he whispered again. 'They need it. They need it so badly. It hurts, the thirst. They smell us. They smell the living.'

'Patreus!' Alaster hissed.

Patreus jerked, his pupils snapping back into focus. 'What? Sorry!'

'Cadet Patreus – try and pay attention!' Kodos did not sound pleased.

'Sorry, Sergeant.'

'You will be if you're not careful. This is combat, not a funfair.'

The aliens were at the threshold of the portal. There were five of them. They hesitated for a moment. Their armour, Alaster noted, was the same purple-black as that he'd seen earlier.

Alaster realised his breath had sped up. His heart was racing. He could feel sweat inching along his brow. For once, it wasn't drying so fast. His stomach churned. He wasn't afraid – he was terrified. The fight at the spaceport had been just that – a fight. Just a random scrap, really. This was real. For the first time in his life, Alaster was about to go into battle with the Imperium's true enemies. He had no idea what to expect. He wasn't even sure he knew what to do.

'On my mark,' Kodos said.

Hearing his voice was a relief. Kodos sounded self-assured, in control. He radiated confidence. He knew exactly what to do. He'd done this before. Alaster was grateful for the sergeant's presence. If anyone would get them through this, it would be Kodos.

The aliens leapt. The portal rippled as they passed. They hit the ground. They were here. Inhuman monsters, standing on Octalian soil. They raised their guns.

'Mark!' Kodos roared.

Three bolt pistols roared as one. They were joined by the hum-crack of the plasma gun. Alaster fired without thought. The bolt pistol kicked back into his palm. He nearly fumbled it. Luckily, the hours of practise paid off – he just managed not to drop it.

Two of the aliens went down. Kodos and Nasy had both found their targets. Kodos's plasma bolt took off a xeno's head. Nasty's shot took another one in the chest. It toppled down in a spray of alien blood.

The three remaining aliens dived to the floor.

'Mark!' Kodos roared again.

Alaster frantically tracked his pistol down. He leaned out from his rock, finger on the trigger-

He was jerked down. A tug on his tunic knocked him to the floor. He stared at Patreus's free hand, clutching the fabric. 'What-' he began. As he spoke he heard guns roar.

Movement caught his eye. A jagged stream of projectiles shot through where his head had been. The aliens were firing back!

Alaster shut his mouth, swallowing convulsively. Patreus had just saved his life! 'Thanks,' he said weakly.

'Fire at will!' he heard Kodos shout.

Another wave of evil-looking alien ammunition went over the breastwork.

Alaster was near the edge of the wall. He rolled over. He moved the bolt pistol forward. He got into a squat, head just below the top of the rocks. He put a foot up against the edge of the wall, bracing himself on it. Holding the pistol before him, he leaned forward.

Light. His head left the shadow of the rock. He caught a quick glimpse of two aliens, over by the portal. A third lay in the dirt nearby, dead. One of the aliens saw him. It dropped its gun toward him. He was staring down the barrel.

Alaster swung the bolt pistol out and fired.

The bolt hit home. The Dark Eldar's throat was blown open. It was flung back into a ragged heap on the ground.

There was a hiss. Something brushed Alaster's hair. He felt a sudden wetness down his face. The other alien! It was shooting at him! He frantically tried to leap backwards. His foot slipped to one side. He sprawled onto the ground. He gasped as the wind was knocked out of him.

Lying on his side, he saw the remaining Dark Eldar aim at him. It lowered its gun-

A plasma bolt hit it dead-centre. The alien's torso was vapourised.

Alaster panted with relief. He struggled back upright. He dragged himself back behind the breastwork.

'You're bleeding,' Patreus said.

Alaster reached up. There was a cut along his forehead.

'Let me see.' Kodos was suddenly at their side. Alaster found himself staring into the ceramite growl of the helmet. He noticed the paintwork had acquired a couple of shiny new scratches.

Kodos poked the cut. 'It's superficial,' he said. 'Looks worse then it is. They nicked a few capillaries, but nothing else. Seems Karo's skull's too thick to get dented!'

Alaster sat back, sighing with relief.

Kodos picked his way back to the left breastwork.

'That was a good fight,' Patreus said cheerfully. 'I think we all got a xeno!'

'It's not done yet,' Kodos growled. 'That was just the first wave – scouting to see what's lined up. I want you all back in place and looking sharp. We've only just started bringing the storm, lads.'

There was a bizarre lull while they waited for the next wave. Alaster found it hard to concentrate, crouched in this uncomfortable squat behind the rocks. He kept getting distracted. He took a few gulps of water; he was feeling the heat. The sun was merciless. He tilted his hat to stay in the shade.

'Stay focused, lads,' he heard Kodos say.

'This is boring,' Nasty commented.

'War can be,' Kodos said. 'It's not like the movies, you know. If they did their homework, there'd be six hours of wandering around looking for the enemy. Then at the end there'd be fifteen minutes of fighting where basically everyone dies.'

'That'd be a crap film,' Nasty observed. 'I want more shooting.'

'Be careful what you wish for.'

Time passed. They were beyond the one-hour mark. Alaster had to wave away some flies. He felt a yawn bubbling up. He tried to stifle it.

'Something's coming.' It was Patreus, speaking in that creepy whisper again.

'Would you stop doing that?' Alaster growled quietly back. 'You're putting my hair on end.'

Patreus wasn't listening. He was staring at the portal. He had an abstracted look on his face. Alaster felt a fresh stab of fear. He focused in on the portal, trying to stare into its depths.

'Hunting,' Patreus whispered. 'They come to hunt.'

Was there movement? Did something move, inside the portal? Alaster squinted, trying to see. The sun had moved somewhat in the sky, over the last hour. It was now shining into his eyes. It made watching difficult. Alaster risked shading his eyes with one hand.

'Heads up,' Kodos said, suddenly all business. 'Something's coming.'

Yes – there was movement.

'Warp beasts,' Kodos said. 'Skak me.'

Alater could see them now. Lithe shapes, moving in the gloom beyond the portal's mouth. They seemed to flow through the shadows. He caught an impression of powerful haunches and fang-filled mouths. Hateful eyes gleamed in their sockets.

'Change of plan this time,' Kodos said. 'We'll start shooting early, before they hit the portal. I doubt our bolts'll go in, but this way when they exit, they arrive into a storm of lead. These things need ripping to pieces – quickly. You do not want to arm-wrestle one of these monsters.'

The creatures were almost at the portal. They were perhaps slightly dog-like, with a hint of lizard too. They were entirely nightmarish.

Alaster sighted down his bolt pistol. He gripped it as best he could.

'Okay, fire on three,' Kodos said. 'One, two, three.'

Alaster pulled the trigger. The pistol roared. It was joined by the other guns. Bolts struck the portal. As Kodos had suspected, they just bounced off. Some sort of forcefield, Alaster supposed. It was no weirder than the portal itself.

The beasts didn't appear to notice. They sprang through the barrier. Alaster noticed a ripple as they passed through. They hit the ground, growling. The things looked even more ferocious in the clear daylight. They were solid with muscle.

'Fire! Keep firing!' Kodos yelled.

Alaster's pistol kicked again. This time he actually hit; a grazing impact on one of the creatures' shoulders. It only seemed to anger the monster. It sprang forwards. A crackling blast of plasma took it in the head. The corpse flopped to the ground.

Alaster glanced back. He swallowed. The monsters were almost on them! How could they move so fast? Trying not to panic he fired off a couple of shots. One went wild, one clipped a beast.

They were more than halfway to the breastworks. Only seconds had elapsed. Alaster could smell them now. It was a strange, alien scent. He could only think to liken it to a sickly cinnamon. There was nothing human in that odour.

He fired again. This shot hit a chest. The beast staggered backwards, blood spraying out. Another shot took it from the side. It collapsed, chest torn open.

Two left. By the throne, they were nearly here!

Alaster concentrated on the nearest one. He fired and missed. The bolt sailed clean over the creature's shoulder. Next to him, Patreus fired. The creature staggered, hurt but not downed. Blood dribbled down a leg. Patreus fired again. The leg was torn off. The creature staggered.

Alaster sighted down the pistol. He fired. The gun roared.

So did the monster, as a hind leg was torn off. It fell to the ground, out of the fight. There was one left. It was heading for Nasty and Kodos.

Nasty and the sergeant shot at it. The bolt and the plasma collided, just short of the creature. Suddenly heated beyond its tolerances, the bolt shell exploded, dumping its deuterium cargo into the air. The heavy hydrogen did what hydrogen does best on contact with air – it combusted.

Alaster was dazzled by the bright flash of light and deafened by the bang.

He blinked, shaking his head to clear the afterimages.

Where was the creature? He couldn't see it. For a moment he thought it had been destroyed. But he saw no remains. Where could it have gone?

His eyes met Nasty's. Nasty looked frantic. He was pointing his bolt pistol at Alaster! Alaster stared, shock spreading across his face.

No, wait. He was pointing it down slightly, toward the breastwork.

There was a blur of cinnamon-scented skin. The creature sprang over the breastwork! It landed next to Alaster.

Alaster frantically rolled to one side. The explosion – it must have knocked it over here. How was it still alive? Alaster didn't understand.

Alaster struggled to his feet. The creature was looking at him. It pawed the dirt, spreading its evil jaws. Behind it, Alaster saw Patreus moving.

The creature must have sensed something. It whirled. It sprang at Patreus. It slammed into him. He was knocked to the ground with a grunt. It smashed a paw into his head. Alaster heard the crack.

Patreus lay on the ground, blinking dazedly.

The creature opened its jaws. It was eyeing his throat-

Alaster felt something against his foot. The bolt pistol! He bent down, grabbing it as fast as he could. He brought it up. Dirt shushed beneath his hand as he gripped the weapon. The sound distracted the monster. It raised its head, looking right at him. It opened its mouth-

In one, instinctive movement, Alaster lined the bolt pistol up. He fired.

The bolt went straight down the creature's throat. It looked momentarily nonplussed then its torso burst. The force of the explosion had been diminished by the surrounding meat – just as well for Patreus, who probably wouldn't appreciate being pelted with shrapnel.

There was a moment of silence.

It was broken by Patreus. 'Yuck,' he said. 'I'm covered in xeno!' He was indeed. The broken carcass was heaped over him. He sat up awkwardly, wiping alien residue from his face. He pushed the body off of him.

Something about the situation was suddenly hilarious. Alaster found himself laughing, with an almost manic intensity. His chest was heaving and tears were running down his face. The monsters were dead! They were alive! Suddenly he felt overjoyed. It was the best feeling ever.

He sat back against the stonework as the fit of mirth subsided.

'Okay, lads, let's try and keep it together,' he heard Kodos say. 'This is only round two.'

The sergeant's words immediately dampened his spirit.

'Look,' Nasty said. 'What's going on?' He was pointing to one of the dead beasts, lying before the breastworks.

The bodies were twitching and bubbling. Their sides were sagging down, as if they were deflating. As Alaster watched in incomprehension, the creatures melted away. Their corpses diminished and evaporated. Within a minute, there was nothing left except disturbances in the soil.

'By the Emperor – I'm clean again!' Patreus spoke with disbelief. He was right. All the blood and guts had vanished from him.

'I don't get it,' Nasty said. 'How can they just vanish?'

'Those creatures,' Kodos said. 'My understanding is they are foulness from the Warp. I suppose it follows that once they're destroyed, their essence returns there.'

'The gate's still open,' Patreus said.

Alaster looked toward the arch. It was indeed. His heart sank.

'We've got longer to go yet,' Kodos told them.

They were back to maddening inactivity. Alaster tried to remain focused. His mind kept wandering. This situation was bizarre! Just a couple of days ago, he remembered sitting on the coach with Patreus. He remembered their conversation, all the normal and human things in it. Mundane things like jobs and families, property and corruption. Human things. Comprehensible, predictable, familiar. Only now here he was, both figuratively and literally standing in a new world. He stared at the portal. Had it really been sat here, all this time? If this could remain undiscovered so long, how many other horrors like this were out there? How many other nightmares, lurking just below the skin of the world? It made all of their previous concerns seem trivial. He was struck by a sense of his own unimportance, of the negligible impact of the people he had lived his life thus far with. If this was what everyday life was to a Space Marine – well, no wonder you didn't see many of them about on Delta! The 'mundane' world must seem bland and superficial.

More time passed. Try as he might, he was getting bored.

'How long have we got?' Nasty asked Kodos.

'Another hour,' the sergeant replied.

Patreus looked delighted. 'Great – this'll be over soon!'

'Don't say things like that.' Kodos spoke with the cynicism of bitter experience. 'Frankly, we should have had an attack by now. I don't like this delay. It suggests they're gathering a larger force.'

More time passed. They must be close to the reinforcements now.

'They've jumped,' Kodos reported. 'The _Nevermore_ is performing orbital insertion.'

'So they'll be here soon?' Patreus sounded excited.

Kodos sighed long-sufferingly. 'Cadet Patreus, the _Nevermore_ is a battle barge. That means it's big. Big and heavy. Shunting that much mass around takes a lot of thrust. Matching velocities with Gamma will take a while. You can't even think about teleporting or drop-podding until you have an orbit – not unless you want your troops to go splash on impact, anyway.'

'Oh,' Patreus said.

A quarter of an hour passed.

'I don't want to worry anyone,' Patreus said, 'but I think I see movement.'

'Wondered when any of you would notice that,' Kodos agreed.

Alaster couldn't make out anything inside the portal. The gloom seemed to have deepened – oh. He wanted to slap himself for missing that. The webway inside was an artificial environment. The gloom wouldn't just deepen by itself. That should have told him something was happening!

Something was trying to conceal itself.

Nasty squawked, 'You didn't tell us?'

Kodos's shoulder pads moved in a shrug. 'Well, there's bog all we can do about it, so I thought why worry you?'

'What is in there?' Alaster asked.

'The passage goes back a way,' Kodos explained. 'I can see maybe two miles down it. Beyond that it's too murky, even with the optics in my helmet. But there's a fair-sized army in there. They've got vehicles. They'd be here already but that the narrowness of the corridor is slowing them down.'

'So it's a race,' Alaster said, looking at the sky.

'We've slowed them down,' Kodos replied. 'Whatever happens now, they won't be able to dig in. The Ravens are coming. The Imperium has already won – keep that in mind. All we have to do is slow them down that bit more. The more we delay them, the faster the Chapter achieves victory. The faster the victory, the fewer of our brothers who get hurt.'

Something in Kodos's tone made Alaster shiver. Kodos didn't expect them to survive. He didn't expect to survive himself. Two weeks and two days. Skak. Beat that for a short career! Alaster looked at the portal. It seemed to stare at him, glowering and intimidating.

That strange hyperawareness settled over him again. He noted the bleached greyish-beige of the rock and dust. He noticed the electric-blue glow of the runes. He noted the brightness of the sun and the darkness of the sky overhead. Shading his eyes, he noted that if you looked away from the sun and into the darkest bits of the sky, you could actually see a few stars here, even by day. Gamma really was a different planet – there were so many little things that were different. In passing he noticed a particularly bright point of light near the zenith. He wondered which star it was. He couldn't remember. Oh well.

He heard a noise to his left. Patreus was praying again.

He looked back at the portal. There were definitely shapes now.

'Get into firing position,' he heard Kodos say.

Alaster moved to obey. He realised he was probably about to die soon. Oddly, he felt no fear, just a kind of blankness. Oh well – it was kind of sad, he supposed, that he wasn't going to get to be a Raven after all. Pity, that. Still, he thought of Patreus's words on the bus. If he did actually have a soul, something he had never felt entirely sure about, hopefully this would count in his favour.

'Hold until you have a definite shot lined up,' he heard Kodos say. 'We aren't going to get many second shots, so better make the first count. Wait for my mark.'

Alaster became aware of forms, on the periphery of the portal. They were here. The Dark Eldar had arrived, in force. There was one at the front, obviously their leader. His form was a mass of spikes and blades and his angular armour was decorated with many skulls. His shoulder-guards were flared into sweeping prongs and a black plume hung behind the high crest of his helm. Alaster had no doubt he was looking at a monster.

'Well, what do we have here?' The creature spoke. Its voice was surreally-cultured, the Gothic words pronounced with only the weakest of accents. And yet, the voice sent a shiver down Alaster's spine. There was an edge of cruelty to it. The creature stepped forward, right to the edge of the portal. 'A pathetic clutch of runts. And one sad, tired excuse for a warrior. Is this the best the so-mighty Storm Ravens can do?'

Alaster glanced up. Idly, he noticed a meteor, making its way across the sky. It must be a bright one to be visible by day, even here on Gamma. He wondered if it was an omen of some sort.

'Better a sad, tired excuse then a xeno fraud, scum.' Kodos's voice dripped with hate. The sergeant didn't sound at all afraid. In fact, he sounded eager to have it out with the alien.

The creature looked to one side. It noticed the wrecked piece of apparatus and the corpse of the Originist. 'So they actually did get the device to them,' it remarked, sounding intrigued. 'My, oh my. I am actually surprised. He actually kept his word.'

Alaster wondered what the creature was talking about.

'So this is your doing then, scum?' Kodos asked.

'Oh you humans. Do you really imagine that any of you could devise a scheme as elegant as this?' The alien laughed. The noise was unpleasant.

Alaster glanced up again and blinked. The meteor was still there. No, wait – there were others!

'So you need catspaws to do your dirty work,' Kodos said. 'Hardly elegant – more lazy, I think.'

'You think, do you?' The monster feigned surprise. 'That would be a first for a Raven.'

Alaster wondered what was going on. Kodos seemed to be doing his best to draw out the conversation. Shouldn't they be shooting by now? He became aware of a faint noise, like the wind whistling in the distance.

'I think you're a coward, hiding there inside your bulletproof bolthole,' Kodos replied. 'Far from causing fear, I think you're full of it.'

'Is that so?' The alien stepped forward. Flexing its thing legs, it sprang out onto the dusty ground. It was followed by several more of its bizarre kin. 'I think you court death, foolish human.'

'Yes,' Kodos said. 'Yours.'

The alien seemed to be enjoying this. 'Oh really? And how do you figure that?'

Alaster could hear a grin in Kodos's voice. 'Because I've kept you talking long enough for the teleporter to lock on, you thick skakker.'

Suddenly, things went crazy.

There was a flash of light in front of Alaster. A thunderclap of displaced air echoed around the walls. Suddenly, stood before the breastworks were eight Terminators! They were clad in the colours of the Storm Ravens, bird-and-lightning insignia proudly displayed on one shoulder and the crux terminatus on the other. One of them had a long, multi-barrelled gun slung under one mighy fist.

The barrels roared into life.

The Dark Eldar commanders were ripped to pieces. Hardly able to believe his eyes, Alaster watched the storm of destruction. Even as alien reinforcements poured toward the portal, their advance stumbled. They fell onto the Terminators' guns, a confused and leaderless rabble.

A vast, sudden movement caught Alaster's eye. The meteors – the ground convulsed as the first of the drop pods made planetfall. Its doors fell open and Space Marines poured out. Another enormous thump came from the far end of the semicircle as the next pod landed. More Space Marines fanned out.

Alaster was shaking with relief. He realised he was crying. Hardly able to believe their reprieve, he slumped back on his haunches to watch as the cleansing began.


	10. Chapter 10 An Explosive Testament

'So these are the heroes of the hour.'

Alaster gawped at the massive terminator. He was impressive. The man's armour was decorated, embossed with scenes of many battles. The plates were trimmed with gold. One of the marine's arms ended in a massive power fist. The other gripped a beautifully-crafted storm bolter. His breastplate bore the Chapter crest, the raven in flight with linghtning. It had been embossed and painted in amazing detail – Alaster could see every feather. Instead of the usual angular bolt, the lightning was drawn like a real bolt, all crackles and sparks. The raven's head was turned to show one beady, red eye. The man was wearing a helmet; its flat top was decorated with a raven in flight, wings outstretched. Red eye lenses gleamed in the sun below the helm-raven's wings.

'Get to your knees, you skakkers,' Kodos growled from beside the three aspirants. 'Show some respect. You have the honour to be addressed by the Raven Lord himself.'

The Chapter Master. By the Emperor! Startled, Alaster dropped to his knees. He heard a thump as Patreus did the same. A moment later, Nasty followed. Typically, the aspirant had waited a beat, just to show that he wasn't overawed.

Kodos, his helmet now off, stared at their poses with dismay. 'No, that's wrong. Not like that-'

The terminator waved his power first dismissively. 'That's okay, Sergeant. You'll have plenty of opportunity to instruct them later. For now, I just need to talk to them. You three – at ease!'

Alaster blinked. Then he realised the Raven Lord had meant to stand. Trying not to look panicky, he struggled to his feet.

In the background three marines leapt out of the portal. Something about their manner suggested satisfaction. They took up stations on each side. They were armed with bolt pistols and chainswords. Their armour was splashed with alien blood. Bits of armour and torn flesh were caught in the teeth of their swords.

A vast shape appeared behind them. An instant later, with a thud that Alaster felt even from over here, the dreadnought climbed down from the portal. The portal was still about a foot off the ground. The huge machine stalked off to one side. Some more Space Marines followed it out.

One of the marines walked over. To Alaster's puzzlement, the helmet turned and looked at him for a moment. The marine twitched slightly, as if in recognition. Then the warrior looked back to the Chapter Master. The marine banged his breastplate in salute.

'The portal has been cleansed, my Lord,' he said. Alaster frowned. That voice – it did sound familiar. How bizarre. He wondered if the heat was getting to him.

The Raven Lord's snout-like helmet turned, to regard the marine. 'And the xenos, Brother?'

'All dead, my Lord. Venerable Brother Ferras-' the marine nodded in the direction of the dreadnought '-destroyed their vehicles. There is naught but wreckage in the corridor.'

'Excellent. You and your men have my thanks, Brother Thaddeus.'

Thaddeus. Oh.

'Yes My Lord!' Thaddeus sounded pleased. He also sounded surprised – he clearly hadn't expected a compliment. 'I'll pass that on, if I may.'

'Be my guest. Dismissed!'

Thaddeus banged on his breastplate again, then he walked away. He rejoined the other marines over by the webway gate. They were gathered around the wrecked apparatus. One of them was examining it with various tools. The corpse of the Originist was off to one side, in a bag with an apothecary. He was busy closing the zips and making some notes on a slate. The whole area was crawling with Storm Ravens – Alaster reckoned there had to be something approaching an entire company just in this area. He knew there were even more outside.

Overhead, four landspeeders hovered over the portal, keeping it covered frome each point of the compass. Any further attackers would find themselves ripped to pieces.

The Raven Lord clicked the safety back on his storm bolter. The little snick jerked Alaster's attention back to the scene in front of him.

'Cadets Karo, Patreus and Shepherd,' the commander remarked. 'Tell me what happened here.'

Alaster blinked. 'Uh, my Lord, I'm sure the sergeant can give you a full report.'

'He already has. I want your version as well. Humour me.'

Alaster felt like a small animal in a car's headlights. Speaking to the lord and master of the Chapter itself just topped off today's weirdness. 'Yes my Lord.' He ran through his version of events. Then Patreus did the same, and finally Nasty.

The Raven Lord considered their stories for a moment. Then he spoke. 'You have done the Chapter and the Imperium a service today. That will not be forgotten. I suppose it's only fitting that you should get to finish this.'

Alaster tried to stifle the frown. What did that mean? 'What do you want us to do, my Lord?' Alaster spoke carefully.

'Push a button. We're have a little present for the Dark Eldar.' The terminator pointed with his gun.

The marines were doing something over by the gate. They were fastening packages to the base of the arch. The packages were wired together. One of the marines was unrolling a reelm of cable, walking backwards toward the portal. He was accompanied by two more marines, one with a bundle of packages and the other cradling a bolter.

They disappeared into the portal, leaving cable behind them.

'Come with me,' the Raven Lord ordered. They followed the massive terminator as he strode over.

As they approached the portal the marines all respectfully banged on their breastplates. 'How are we doing?' the Raven Lord asked.

'Nearly there, my Lord,' one marine reported. He connected a cable to a socket and something beeped. 'Ah – there we are, my Lord. The charges are ready to for priming.'

Alaster wondered what the charges were.

'What is the detonation status?'

'We have a vox-activation, my Lord. We'll set up a relay for it out here, to make sure the signal penetrates into the portal. Once the signal is sent, the primary blast occurs one minute after.'

'And the blast range?'

'The rock should contain most of it, my Lord.' The marine pointed to the walls. 'And the vast bulk of it will be inside the webway. We've rigged up the corridor. There's a junction further down – with any luck the blast should rip that out too.'

'And if the demolition explosives don't damage the corridor?'

The marine shrugged. 'I spoke to the Tech-Priests. They say it will collapse anyway, without the gate to anchor it. The extra explosives are just a precaution, my Lord.'

'Good,' the Raven Lord said. 'I'd like you to give the control unit to Cadet Karo here.'

'My Lord.' The marine sounded surprised. Still, he didn't question it. The helmet turned to face Alaster. Alaster looked up and back, nothing that his legs weren't trembling. He felt proud of himself – he was almost getting used to this.

The marine lifted a small rectangular box from a belt pouch. He turned to one of the other marines. 'The connector, brother.'

The man handed him another cable. The first marine connected it to the back of the box. He flipped a latch on the side of the box. Two handles emerged. They looked a little like thin joysticks and ended in red buttons.

The marine handed the box to Karo.

He handed it to Alaster. 'When the Raven lord tells you, push the two red buttons in. You have to do both to ignite the charges. Have you got that?'

'Uh, yes Brother. Two red buttons.' Alaster managed not to swallow.

'Okay. Keep those in mind. Remember it's both – it's set up that way to stop you setting it off by accident.'

'Yes, Brother-Marine.'

A shadow swooped over them. Alaster heard the rumble of mighty engines.

'There's our ride,' the Chapter Master remarked. 'We'd better move back. The valley outside should do.'

'Yes my Lord.' The marines turned their attention to evacuating the area.

Some time Alaster found himself stood with Nasty and Patreus on the dusty floodbed. The hills containing the portal rose up before them. A length of cable ran off from the box in Alaster's hands, snaking up into the distance. They couldn't see the portal from here. It was lost amongst the scarps and peaks.

Alaster was aware of the weight in his hands. The box was angular and hard underneath his fingers.

Alaster risked a glance behind him. The riverbed was full of Space Marines. Two whole companies, each warrior stood to silent attention. Two hundred Astartes, all looking at the small tableaux at the front. Alaster was trying not to shrink under the attention. He thought he recognised Captain Lakon with them, distinguishable by the silver trim on his shoulder pads and the vicious axe he carried. Alaster didn't know which one was Thaddeus, but he knew the man was in there somewhere.

Kodos and the Raven Lord were with them at the front.

The Raven Lord spoke briefly to the three aspirants. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes lord,' Alaster said.

The terminator stepped back and faced his army. He spoke, the speakers in his helmet amplifying his voice. 'Brothers, we gather here today in victory and in celebration. The xenos threat has been routed. The monsters have been sent back to the hell they call a home. They have failed. We have triumphed. As we have today and in the past, so we shall in the days to come. We are oathsworn to defend the peoples of these worlds and today we have upheld our oath. The foe will never make a liar of a Raven.

'Nonetheless, there is a lesson in today's fight. Wherever we go, wherever we stand, we must always be vigilant. Even on this world, a planet of our own domain, our foe dared to rear its head. Had it not been for the actions of many brave men, they would have gone about their business, silent and unpunished.

'Their temerity will not go without revenge. With my authority as Lord of the Storm Ravens, I am ordering the cleansing of this place. Cadet Karo, please take the firing sticks.'

Alaster was amazed at how steady his hands were. He gripped the sticks, resting his thumbs on the red buttons.

'On three. One. Two. Three.'

He pushed the buttons. They sank in.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Up over the hills, there was a puff of dust. It didn't look much, just like a some dirt blown from a shelf. But the puff kept rising. It spread into a lazy plume, tilting and twisting on the light wind.

Alaster felt it before he heard it. A throbbing rumble, carried through the ground. It rose up through his boots. Then he heard the rising growl of the blast. It peaked, at a painful intensity. Then it faded away, replaced by the distant rumblings of falling rocks.

He looked at the others.

Patreus was staring with awe. Nasty was grinning, ear to ear. 'That,' he said, 'was cool!'

Some hours later, Captain Lakon and the Raven Lord surveyed the damage from close up. They sat behind an observation port of a Thunderhawk as it circled the new crater from on high. The vague outline of the semicircle was still visible. The sides had been softened by inslides of damaged rock. The entrance to the cavity had been entirely destroyed. A fragmented heap of rock marked the final resting place of the gate-arch itself. The glowing runes were gone. Nothing remained of the carved columns on the rockfaces. The setting sun washed the wreckage with ruddy light. Long shadows stretched out from the heaps of rubble. The demolitions charges had done their work.

'Well my Lord,' Lakon remarked, 'I guess that solves that problem.' He tapped his helmet. 'Our Tech-Marine reports the warp field has dissipated. Not a single millithere above background. There is no gate here anymore.'

'With any luck it may have penetrated further into the webway,' the Raven Lord said. 'The more passages it destroyed, the better. That was partly my idea.'

'You wanted to send a message.'

'Yes. Sergeant Kodos's report is disturbing. I've reviewed the audio log of their last encounter. It seems at least some of the Originists may be in league with the aliens. It astounds me – the whole problem with them was supposed to be too much zeal, not too little.'

'The enemy of your enemy?'

'Is still a piece of xeno filth. No, they're not given to unlikely alliances. In fact, one of the things they hold against us is that we will sometimes ally with aliens.'

'Only out of necessity.'

'Exactly. And it makes all this rather ironic.'

'Did the body yield any clues?' Lakon asked.

'Not really. The apothecaries did manage to get a match, from the police databases. A level one citizen from Gamma Tertius, name of Jalos Millick. Apparently he lived in a room in a public house on one of the estates. There was no record of any job. I suspect his means of support wasn't legal.'

'He was a level one? Kodos's video - he didn't look ill or crippled.'

'He wasn't first level due to failure, just by default. He simply never took the Selection. The Originists ban their faithful from doing so.'

'And of course if you don't take it, you can't score above one.' Lakon's helmet nodded. 'And if you only score a one, you can't take any exams, you can't get any qualifications. You can't get most jobs and you can't live outside the public housing projects. The crap end of town, in other words. You're banned from having children. So you're basically screwed. You'll have a short, unhappy life.'

'And it ensures the Originists have a supply of embittered people with nothing to lose.' The Raven Lord sounded cynical. 'One could almost suspect them of farming their faithful for misery.'

'That's exactly what they do,' Lakon growled. 'So, what about the Dark Eldar angle?'

'I almost wish Kodos had taken the thing alive. We could have done with more information.'

'Putting one of them to the question would be futile. Anything we can do to them, they've probably already done to themselves.'

'True. The difficulty is, we really don't have anything to go on. It seemed to imply that they had an intermediary, someone who delivered that machine to the Originists.'

'The person who kept his word.'

'Yes. And sadly, that complicates things.'

'How?'

'It means the Originists might not have known what they were doing. Or at least makes it deniable. They might claim they thought they were disabling the gateway. I suspect this may have been a plot to discredit us. Open the gate, have the Dark Eldar rampage around for a while, then use their little device to shut it again while they charge in and massacre the surviving aliens. They probably thought if they timed it right, they could make it look like they were the true defenders of Octalis.'

'If they got in first.'

'Of course they would. They already knew where the gate was. We didn't even know it was here – it was only chance that Karo stumbled on it. Or the hand of the Emperor.'

'A plot to discredit us,' Lakon said with disgust. 'These people are true schemers. Is there nothing they won't stoop to?'

'They're convinced they have right on their side. They're true fanatics. Collateral damage doesn't bother them.'

'The device itself – do we need to plan for a repeat?'

'We should always be vigilant. The Tech-Marines have been over the device – they took it from the scene, before the blast. They've had our Tech-Priests involved too. Apparently the device is an abomination – not an STC pattern. Possibly part-alien. The recognisable bits are Warp resonance amplifiers. I'm led to understand these are parts of stardrive assemblies. They think the device used them to couple to the gate's stand-by mode, forcefeeding it power to make it open.'

'Alien tech. A further heresy!'

'Indeed. One with a small advantage to us, though.'

'How so?'

'If our Tech-Priests can't replicate the device then I doubt the Originists can either. There is a good chance this was the only one they had.'

'Well that's a small mercy.' Lakon hesitated. Then he said carefully, 'With respect my Lord, I'm starting to think Kodos might be right. These people know no honour. They flout the public order and now they plot with aliens. Maybe we should crack down on them.'

'Mark my words, Brother Captain, this outrage will have consequences.' The Raven Lord was resolute. He surveyed the devastation below them. 'However, I don't think we've exhausted the legal avenues yet.'

'In the last week they've showed total contempt for the law.'

'Yes, and that's their mistake. Okay, we can't prove that they knew for a fact what they were doing, or what was on the other side of the gate. But we have unarguable evidence that they knew about the gate and hadn't reported it. That is treason, Brother-Captain. The courts can't pass that up, even if they've tried to get to them. Nor can the government. Yelessa and her ministers will have to act now.'

'With respect my lord, how can you be so sure?'

'Because I just voxed the video files to the local press,' the Raven Lord replied. 'And a short statement. It'll be all over the evening news.'

Lakon sounded surprised. 'We're going public on this one?'

'Yes. I don't see why not. We're not dealing with Chaos here. If we put out an appeal for information, well, the more eyes turned on a problem the more you'll see. Also, it might help focus some minds. The Home Rule Council, for instance.'

'It might cause a panic.'

'If we went into Primaris, Secundus and Tertius with bolter and chainsword, there'd be an even bigger panic, Brother. No, there's enough uncertainty about as it is. And anyway, we can't keep this one secret. The bomb was a good way to make sure of the portal, but nukes can't be hidden. Nor can battle-barges jumping into orbit and spouting drop pods.'

'Ah. I hadn't thought of that.'

'I'm going to have to give the Council a statement later. They've been trying to get through ever since we arrived. I think they're a bit worried.'

'As they skakking well should be.' Lakon drummed his armoured fingers on the haft of his axe. 'I'm not keen on this idea, but - I was wondering if we should get the Inquisition involved?'

The Raven Lord was silent for a moment. Then, he said, 'I'm not keen on that either, Brother. The Inquisition – well, sometimes you never know what they're going to do next. This mess is partly their fault. If they'd just done the sensible thing and banned this silly sect, we wouldn't have this problem. No, they've been playing politics with this. I don't want them making hay with us. These worlds owe fief to us – they're our responsibility. We can manage. We've weathered far worse then this daft little spat.'

'Yes my Lord. I suppose you're right. But I think we should hold onto it, as a reserve option.'

'True. But I can't see the situation getting any worse.' The Raven Lord pointed out of the window, at the crater below. 'That sends a strong message. Their leaders will understand. We're here and we're not going away. And anyway, they've overplayed their hand. The xeno ploy failed. Their little coup attempt failed. Many of them will soon be in jail. They have no room left to manoeuvre.'

'Still, something keeps bothering me about all this.' Lakon waved a hand at the view.

'What's that?'

'It reminds me a bit of that business in Vandais, last year.'

'Oh yes, the cult on the Moon. That was a bad affair.'

'I still don't think we got the full story on it.'

'I don't think there was much story. A latent psyker wakes up one morning and discovers his powers, like they do sometimes. Then the voices start talking to him, putting ideas in his head. Next thing you know he's founded himself a little coven and they've got big plans. They go on a killing spree and bodies start cropping up. They do a poor job of hiding them, so the authorities notice. We get called in and _bang!_ Problem solved. It's a bit pathetic, really.'

Lakon said nothing for a while. He looked at the devastated landscape below. Finally, he said, 'So what's the follow-up going to be?'

'To the gate? Well, we need to sweep the area, make sure there aren't any more lying around. I've put Kodos's aspirants on the job as well as the scouts. It's the kind of work the aspies can do.'

'What about back-up?'

'We'll be keeping two companies in place, on Gamma. Just in case they're needed. It'll help reassure the populace, too.'

'That's going to leave us a bit thin on Delta, my Lord. We'll be having half the Chapter out for the Fafnir Campaign soon enough. And with the Seventh and Eighth Companies out on deployment elsewhere, that's only going to leave one back home.'

'One and a half. It's only half of the Eighth that's deployed.'

'That's still only a hundred and fifty marines. What are we going to do if there's a problem on Delta?'

The Raven Lord shrugged. 'What sort of problem? A hundred and fifty should be adequate. We're not the police, remember. Delta is more then capable of looking after itself. It usually does.'

Lakon nodded. 'That's a point. My lord – I'm still uneasy.'

'Obviously we'll monitor the situation. I'll make sure we stay in astropathic contact with Delta the whole time. If there's any hint of trouble, we send half the force back there and then.'

Lakon nodded. 'That sounds viable.'

'Glad you agree. Now, I think we should be getting back to the camp. This crater is getting boring, don't you agree?'

Lakon laughed. 'Yes my Lord. It isn't even smoking anymore!'


	11. Chapter 11 Shadow Conference

17/12/2008The MisfitsD. Murray

In the city of Creekside, on Delta Octalis, it was a muggy Triday morning. Commuters and shoppers were going about their business through the town's commercial districts. The roads were busy with passenger traffic as bleary-eyed workers travelled to their factories and offices. Slow-moving streams of cars wound their ways between houses and skyscrapers alike.

In one of the city's wealthier residential districts, out to the west and north of the sprawling metropolis, things were quieter. The morning rush had drained much of its population. However, even this august postcode was not wholey free of human traffic. A man and a woman walked down one of the tree-lined boulevards, busy talking. They were both dressed smartly but non-descriptly. She could be a senior manager in a big company, he a successful clerk. Oddly for a clerk he carried no briefcase. His hands were free. The woman was speaking, gesticulating with focused energy. They paid no attention to the grand houses or the gothic facades of the various parish churches as they passed. Bells tolled from various spires as competing Imperial sects sought worshippers; the man and woman paid them no mind. Birds twittered happily in the trees. They were ignored in their turn.

'I don't like this.' The woman spoke quietly. Nonetheless, her manner was forceful. Her attention was focused on the man beside her. 'I think this is a bad idea.'

'Why shouldn't we, Janessa? My ally hasn't acted against us.'

The woman – Janessa – rolled her eyes. She swept back her hair with a hand. 'Your ally, Tobias. I've never even met this friend of yours.'

'I don't call him a friend. And anyway, he doesn't like visitors. There's nothing odd about that.'

'So you just keep him downstairs in the crypt. Like a difficult pet. That's not odd at all, is it?'

The man – Tobias – sighed, long-sufferingly. A car's engine rumbled as it drove past. The morning sunlight glinted on the windscreen. The man and woman fell silent as it passed.

'Look,' Tobias said, 'my ally can be a bit strange sometimes. Okay, fair point. Given what he's been through, it's no surprise.'

'He's been tainted with their heresy.'

'No - what they did to him showed him the truth. It's just a pity it left his body a warped wreck.'

'Tobias, you're consorting with a mutant. If the congregation knew what we have below the church – below the church! It doesn't bear thinking about. They'd riot.'

'What they don't know can't hurt them. See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil. Ignorance is our best defence.'

'A mutant is still a mutant.'

'Yes, but this is a useful one.'

'He doesn't share our beliefs.'

'No, and nor does he pretend to. Our alliance is one of mutual convenience – that makes it all the stronger. He wants revenge against the people who hurt him. I want this world cleansed of those accursed Ravens. We have a perfect confluence of interest. And you've seen how well things have gone, since I took him on.'

Grudgingly, Janessa agreed. 'Yes, I suppose some of his advice has been good.'

'Good? Good? Janessa, the banks thing was genius! We'd never have thought of that. Buying up shares in dodgy businesses, ones we know will fold and selling them onto the banks cheaply. Because of course some traders'll buy any old junk if it's cheap. It's brilliant. And of course the shares are basically worthless and sooner or later that leaks through. The banks get wobbly and call in their loans - and that hurts the money-grubbing scum who've been cheerleading the Ravens for so long. Look at what's happening on Gamma – it's a miracle.'

'A miracle that's seeing people thrown out of their homes.'

Tobias waved a hand in dismissal. 'A detail, nothing else. Many of those people stood by in silence, while the Ravens practise their butchery on the innocent. If they suffer an inconvenience, I don't care. And many of those people are going to the soup kitchens our churches run. Don't forget the sermons there. Poverty is a minor price to pay for saving a man's soul.'

'We're using the faithful's money in business. It doesn't seem right.'

'The faithful donate their money so we can further the cause. We're taking the fight to the enemy. We haven't cheated our own, if that's what you mean.'

'If this plan carries on, people will start to suffer here.'

'Sometimes pain can be a virtue.'

'True,' Janessa said. 'The price of sin has always been suffering. The soul cannot be cleansed without sacrifice.'

Tobias nodded. 'I know you're uneasy, Janessa, and I understand that. Hell, I respect you for it. I respect the fact that you'll tell it to my face. I also respect your vision.'

The woman said nothing. She just looked at the man, regarding him curiously.

Tobias continued, 'You're unsure. I know that. But you haven't shut us down. You haven't ordered us to stop. Hierarch Janessa, I acknowledge your authority. If you feel this is going too far, just say so. I won't break my oath to you.'

'Don't tempt me.'

'But my lady, you haven't ordered me to desist. I mentioned your vision. Part of you is holding back – you can see what we're doing, the successes we've had already. You can see the glorious future we're working toward. You can see the great work we're striving for. Okay, Phelonas's motives are hardly pure – but even the shallow like him may have a part in the Emperor's plan. If I can use Phelonas to secure Humanity's future, then I will. I love the purity of our species. I can't stand to see it soiled any further.'

'At best we can only cleanse this world.'

'Yes, but it's a start. Expose the Ravens' foulness to the galaxy and it will light a fire across the Imperium. The rest of the Astartes will be weakened. We live in dark times. We can't simply stand by!'

The woman nodded. 'True.' She said nothing for a time, thinking. Then she nodded. 'Okay. I still have reservations. However, I shan't insist on joining you in the crypt. I'll wait upstairs, in the vestibule. The parish priest and I need to talk, anyway. I do want one thing from you, though. I want these schemes cleared with me first, before you do anything.'

Tobias nodded. 'Of course, my lady. That's a fine idea.'

They reached a crossing. They waited while a couple of cars passed. They walked across the road, stepping up onto the pavement in front of a low stone wall. A plot of gras and trees surrounded a small, newly-built church. Its faces were stark and clean simplicity, in contrast to the elaborate gothic facades of the neighbouring houses. A gate separated the church garden from the road.

Tobias unlatched the gate. They walked in, passing under the shade of some trees. They stopped before the door to the church. Janessa knocked on it.

'You go and talk to your associate,' she said. 'I'll meet you out here when I'm done.'

Tobias nodded. 'Of course, my lady. Until then, I'll bid you good day.' He turned and walked around the path. The woman watched him go, face, troubled.

Tobias turned the corner at the edge of the church. The sun was blocked by the building. It was cooler and shadier here. Up ahead, half-surrounded by bushes, was a stairwell leading down, below the church. Its entrance was sunk into the ground before the building. The only sounds were the rustles of leaves in the breeze. The air had an earthy, damp smell.

Tobias took the steps down, his feet tapping on the slichen-stained stonework. The church was built on top of older foundations. When the Originists had bought the plot, they'd pulled down a derelict mansion. The rambling, eccentric pile had been built as a monument to some rich financier's bloated ego, a hundred years before. He'd never even lived there. The building had eventually fallen into disrepair. For the Originists, it was a symbolic location. They had built the clean and new chuch on the tired ruins of the past. In the same way, they planned to build a newer and cleaner Imperium on the foundations formed by the current corrupt wreck. Of the old house, only this entrance and the crypt it led to remained. The faithful who worshipped every Septday up above had no idea what was below their feet. Even the parish priest had been strictly instructed not to enter here. Instead he was just to leave a basket of food, once a day, at the top of the stairs. Father Inyre didn't have a disloyal bone in his body – he'd never asked why he'd been told to do this.

Tobias regarded his silence with approval. If only more people were like him!

Father Inyre had never asked where the baskets went, either.

Tobias was at the bottom of the stairs. Leaf litter scrunched around his feet. A heavy wooden door barred his path. Its slats were held together with old iron bands. A heavy knocker sat in the middle. It was carved into the shape of a gargoyle.

'Ugly thing,' Tobias muttered, eyeing it darkly.

He banged the knocker, twice. He paused then he banged it twice more in the agreed sequence. There was another moment of silence. Then the door, with only the faintest of groans, swung open.

'Thank you,' Tobias said loudly to the space beyond. He stepped over the threshold.

The door banged shut behind him.

Tobias was stood in a short corridor. It was walled and floored in plain grey stone. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

The corridor terminated a couple of metres ahead of him, in an arched doorway. It opened onto the far end of the crypt. The space beyond was lit only b a few candles and one single, tired electric bulb, just beyond the corridor. The bulb shed a little pool of creamy light onto the floor. The pool seemed like an island inside a gloomy sea. There was an old leather armchair, sat in the pool. Stark shadows pooled below it.

Tobias took a breath and walked forward. He entered the crypt. Without hesitation, he walked to the chair and sat down. It creaked under him. The leather upholstery was cracked and on the left armrest, some stuffing leaked out. Tobias sniffed the air. It was always close in here – the crypt had ventilation, but not quite enough. The air always had a humid, musty undertone. This was not a place one would linger.

The chair and the bulb were at the back of the rectangular crypt. The space extended beyond Tobias. The small handful of candles did nothing to light the large space. Shadowy structural columns descended from the ceiling in orderly rows. To his left Tobias could just make out the inky silhouette of the vox console that Phelonas had insisted on. It was an expensive model, with full access to the planetary network. Its connection was carefully annonymised, routed through dozens of different regional servers and listed with a faked machine address. The hardware and the hacking needed to make it run had cost the sect dearly. There were plenty of corrupt Tech-Priests about, but they didn't sell their services cheaply. Still, Tobias reckoned it was worth it.

He looked beyond the console. He could see nothing. As usual – every time he came here he strained his eyes, in the hope of a surreptitious glance of Phelonas's form. He had never succeeded. The man – if such he was – had never revealed his true form to Tobias's eyes. Phelonas seemed to love the shadows.

'Tobias.' There it was, floating out of the darkness. That voice.

'Phelonas. Hello.'

'How good to see you. You are well, I presume?' Phelonas's voice sounded educated and urbane. Perhaps even mellifluous. However, sometimes there was just a hint of a mocking undertone. Tobias didn't let it show on his face, but it caused him a slight disquiet. This was evidenced by his hands – as the voice spoke, they tightened on the armrests.

'Yes, thank you. I'm well enough. However, the news I carry is not good.'

'The raid.' How typical – Phelonas had heard first. The man's information-gathering skills were second to none.

'Yes, the raid. The thrice-damned Ravens discovered our scheme on Gamma.'

'The gate has been destroyed.'

'Yes – totally. We confirmed it with a hacked feed from a government satellite. There's just a crater.'

'Oh well.' Phelonas sounded philosophical. 'One doesn't win them all – least of all against Space Marines. And anyway, it was hardly our most subtle plan.'

'A Dark Eldar raid – here, in this system! – that would have done much to weaken the Chapter. Are you sure there are no other gates?'

'Yes, Tobias.' Maybe now there was a hint of irritation behind the urbanity. 'That gate only remained undetected as long as it did due to its isolation. There are no other functioning warp gates on Gamma – nor on Delta or Eta. And even iif there were, repeating the strategy now would fail. The Ravens will have the planet blanketed with theric sensors. The smallest warp fluctuation will bring drop pods. No, this episode has closed.'

'Very well.' Tobias hesitated. 'But perhaps we should review the last episode.'

'In what way?'

'It may be useful for you to see all the circumstances surrounding the discovery. We sent that car after the Ravens' coach. We thought they were going somewhere else, but they must have doubled back later on. It never hurts to check.'

'Well I suppose. But what new data can there be?'

'The cortical feeds.

'Feeds?' Phelonas was surprised. 'Tobias, you wound me. Your agent's nervous system was wired up?'

'Yes, the full pict-capture suite.'

'Oh Tobias – why ever didn't you tell me?'

'It was a last-minute thing. Janessa insisted on it. In case of failure.'

'Failure. I see. Janessa has never trusted me – I know.'

'Well, maybe you can understand why. Perhaps – perhaps if you would meet with her, it would be reassuring.'

'No! No it wouldn't!'

Tobias flinched. For a moment, the urbanity vanished from Phelonas's voice. Instead there was a sudden, harsh rage. His speech was grating, abrupt.

'My apologies – I did not mean to anger you.' Tobias was breathing a little fast. Sweat gleamed on his brow. His pupils had widened.

The voice spoke again, calm once more. 'No, it is I who should apologise. You must understand, I was not born with my defects. I'm not proud of my face. What was done to me is a source of bitterness. I – I hide in the dark because, frankly, I'm ashamed of what I was once part of. And what I did while I was there. You might say, on the outside I am what all Marines are on the inside. My humanity was soiled. I – it would do no good for your hierarch to see my face. Nor for you.'

'It's not really a question of trust-'

'Yes it is. I agreed to remain here, so you could feel some sense of control. I know you're uncomfortable. I first contacted you, over the net, because I knew a meeting wouldn't work. I agreed to come here simply so that you would know I wasn't meeting anyone behind your back. After all, I can't leave this crypt without you knowing, can I?'

Tobias nodded, rubbing his hair. 'Yes. Maybe I was out of line to suggest that. Anyway, the recording. The recording media remained active after the host's murder. We have much footage of the Raven response. Would that be of use?'

Phelonas sounded intrigued. 'Yes – it could well be. Do they suspect anything?'

'They don't seem to have noticed the download. The apparatus will have destroyed itself after that. Some faint chemical traces in the corpse – but then, the body was shredded by a bolt pistol. It should pass scrutiny.'

'Very well. Let us view these recordings.'

Tobias removed the holoslate from a pocket. He placed it on the ground. It flicked on. They watched as the Originist agent set up the warp resonater. They watched as he fought with the intruding aspirant. They watched as he failed. They watched as a Space Marine and several aspirants arrived and began building crude fortifications.

'Wait,' Phelonas said. 'Stop it just there.'

Puzzled, Tobias complied.

'That aspirant. Yes, that one! Magnify the image.'

The image focused in on the tallest of the three aspirants. He had a scar running down one side of his face. His nose looked like it had been broken.

'It is – it's him!' There was an angry rasp in Phelonas's voice.

Tobias looked at the image. He felt confused. 'I don't understand.'

'Do you remember that incident? The gun running operation – that girl, the telepath, the one who almost disturbed it.'

'Yes. She was annoying.' That was an understatement. The Creekside arms works were a core Originist project. Two years spent infiltrating members into the staff. A year spent smuggling out the odd bolt pistol and crate of ammunition here and there, under the cover of quality control rejects. It had been a careful process – the guns were destined for church stashes, for when the Day of Reckoning finally arrived. But it had to be deniable, in case of exposure, so the guns had been routed through local gangs. They'd been allowed to keep a few guns for themselves, to sweeten the deal.

And then this young girl had turned up for work at the factoy. A suspicious mind and latent telepathy had led her straight to the heart of the operation. They'd tried to mop her up but she'd escaped that time. She'd gone to ground with one of the local gangs and there she'd stayed for a while. Stealth had failed. In the end, the only choice had been to denounce her as a rogue psyker and raise a mob against her. It was a gamble, but it paid off.

'That face – I know the face. Her boyfriend.'

Tobias boggled. 'He's alive? I thought they hung him.'

'Apparently not. Apparently they gave him to the Ravens instead.'

'An outrage!'

'Yes, but not an entire surprise. They do seek recruits with a capacity for violence, you must remember. He certainly has that!'

'He killed some of ours.'

'Yes, he did. An entire lynch mob. Rather impressive, really. They got her first, thank goodness. Although it does make me wonder…'

'Wonder what?'

'Did she tell him anything, first? Before she died?'

'No – we'd all be dead by now.'

'Not necessarily. The Imperial authorities might not listen to accusations from a murderer. Particularly if they're aimed against virtuous, upstanding citizens who just acted to protect the public from a rogue psyker.'

'That's worrying.'

'Yes. There's worse, though.'

'And that would be?'

'Look at this.' There was a clicking sound from the vox console. With a sudden burst of light, a screen flickered into life. It was a video of the action at the spaceport on Gamma. The accursed Storm Raven and his misled child-slaves could be seen inside the terminal building. The view paused and zoomed in. One of the aspirtants' faces swam into view.

It was the same man.

Phelonas spoke. 'Curious, isn't it, that this one teenager has turned up at no less then three of our schemes? Three of our most pivotal, too. Two of these have been definitively exposed. The gate and our regime change on Gamma. And now we realise he was at the gun running operation too.'

'You had this footage already. Didn't you know?

'I hadn't connected it until just now. Although I must say, something had been bothering me about the spaceport incident.'

'But what can it mean?'

'These aspirants. The scarred kid, the red-head and the nerd. They need neutralising.'

Tobias gulped. 'They're surrounded by Space Marines. Killing them-'

'Is not what I had in mind.' Phelonas's voice was cold and hard.

'Isn't it?'

'No. Presumably they haven't told the Chapter – or they haven't quite worked it out themselves. But if the weapons smuggling gets out … that would be a disaster. Of the first order. Political trouble the Ravens might ignore. They seem to take this silly Compact thing so seriously. But if they knew you were stocking up on Astartes-grade weapons … the day that gets out, not one single Originist will survive to see the sun set.'

'If they come for us, we will fight.'

'Yes, and you'll lose. You don't yet have the manpower, the organisation or the ammunition needed. You've seen the figures on the arsenals. Even now we're twenty percent below the needed stocks. Taking on a Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes on their home soil isn't a simple thing. If they came for you in six months' time, maybe then … but not now.'

Tobias shuddered. The logic was inescapable. 'So what should we do?'

'The aspirants shouldn't be killed. They've been involved in some unusual incidents. If they all suddenly died, together, someone might just get curious. Plus there's the practical problem of getting at them – as you correctly pointed out. No, what they need is discrediting.'

'Discrediting?'

'Yes. They need to stay alive. But they need to be put in a position where no-one will listen. Where no-one will take seriously any warnings they might issue. They need to be humiliated before the Chapter. If they get thrown off their training, they aren't a problem anymore.'

'How can you be sure?'

'Marines trust their brothers implicitly. If this one with the scar speaks with the eagle over his chest … well, his commanders will listen. But a small, silly little human voice – I believe that would be different.'

Tobias looked worried. 'How can we do this?'

Phelonas spoke smoothly. 'You need not fear – I have a plan. I have received word that a major deployment is coming up soon. The aspirants will probably be mobilised to support the marines. They're going to be stretched when it comes to manpower. In addition, word has it that the Octalian regiments will be sent to assist them.'

'The Guard.'

'Very technically, it's Octalis's PDF, not the Imperial Guard. Granted the regiments usually deploy with the Guard and the distinction is lost on most citizens – but it has consequences. Recruitment is done locally, by local offices. You have sympathisers in the planetary civil service and in the Administratum.'

'You're suggested we manipulate the Guard?'

'No, just parts of it. I'm sure many loyal Originists wish to do their duty for the Emperor. Use the contacts in the bureaucracy. Get them deployed alongside the Ravens. Then – then we will have an opportunity.' Phelonas laughed.

Tobias's face smiled. However, there was something odd in the voice, something unhealthy. The mirth was dark. In spite of himself, Tobias shivered.

7


	12. Chapter 12 Imminent Deployment

'So,' said Chaplain Fellack, pausing the screen, 'what went wrong?'

Alaster wiped sweat from his brow. He shifted the weight from one leg to the other. He'd been standing for over two hours. The weight of the carapace breastplate and helmet he was wearing didn't help. Nor did the bolt pistol, holstered at his waist. During the search-and-destroy patrols on Gamma, the aspirants had been issued with scout armour. The brief awe from wearing the Ravens' insignia on his pauldrons had soon changed to itchiness and sore shoulders. The gambeson-cum-flak vest below the breastplate was bulky and hot. There was sweat trickling down his back. The auditorium had air conditioning but the units were silent. The temperature was okay when the aspirants filed in but it had warmed since.

'Well?' Fellack asked.

A had stuck itself up. 'They lost, sir.' It was Sandrer.

The chaplain sighed with long-suffering resignation. 'Technically, yes, you're right, Cadet. But what – in detail – did they do wrong?'

The auditorium was a large, dark space somewhere in the bowels of the Ravenholme. It was dominated by a stage at the front with a large, wall-filling holoscreen above it. The screen had just been played a film of a battle, made from the recordings remotely uploaded from several helmet cams. They'd been retried by upload as no-one could visit the site afterwards. The marines had lost. The area had been overrun by Orks.

There was one small saving grace: the chapter depicted wasn't theirs. Alaster couldn't recall the chapter's name but they wore red and black armour. That didn't really narrow it down – those seemed the most common colours for chapters.

Patreus put his hand up. He watched with his usual rapt attention. A dribble of sweat had emerged from beneath the rim of his helmet. It was moving down the side of his face. Patreus showed no awareness of it.

'Cadet Patreus.'

'My lord. They were overconfident. They tried to keep the higher ground until the reinforcements arrived.'

The Space Marines in the film had been pinned at the bottom of a slope. There was some cover, some rubble and a wall. The Orks were behind the slope's crest. At that stage there'd been an equilibrium – Orks did't seem to be so good with guns but Astartes had no such problem. The Orks running down hill had died. The marines had been helped by a couple of heavy weapons – a warrior with a plasma cannon and another with a heavy bolter.

'A point, but not clear enough. They were ten of them. They had heavy weapons. Why wasn't that enough?'

The squad's sergeant had been told that reinforcements were coming. Then in a piece of bad luck, the plasma cannon was hit on its cooling vents. Plasma weapons could be temperamental and having a bullet smash penetrate the thermal regulators didn't help. It promptly exploded, killing the marine who carried it.

Alaster put a hand up.

'Cadet Karo.'

'Mobility, my lord. If they'd had some assault marines, they could've scouted beyond the ridge. They'd have seen the Orks there – perhaps even been able to take out their commanders. Instead, they were tied down to one location.'

Moments later, their sergeant had decided to regain the initiative. The sergeant had spoken to his men. His words gave some idea of his thoughts. They hadn't seen many Orks coming over the ridge. They'd known there were more beyond it, but not how many. He hadn't been expecting the waiting horde.

The chaplain nodded. 'A valid point. We always fight well but we're at our best as a highly-mobile force. The power of the Astartes is that we can strike anywhere. Drop pods and teleporters - since we're called Space Marines, we make good use of space. And that's one place where we differ from the Wolves. We understand their unease at teleporters and jump packs, but frankly, the Raven Guard's take on them make more sense.

'However, consider this frame.'

The chaplain reversed to one of the last moments in the film. It was blurry, taken from the viewpoint of a man cresting the hill. Nonetheless, you could see the carpet of Orks lapping at the hillside beyond.

'If an assault marine touched down on his own amongst that lot – well, he'd be dead. He might take a few of them with him, but he'd still die.'

That was exactly what had happened. The marines had charged up the hill, trying to gain high ground advantage. Unfortunately, some Orks had come over while they were halfway. The brothers dealt with the greenskins but it had slowed them down. The main wave heard the sounds of close combat – nearby close combat.

Close combat, Alaster heard, was to Orks what picnics were to wasps.

The chaplain ran the film back a bit then let it run on. They got to watch again the grizzly last minute. The brothers ran up the hill, shouting their chapter's war-cry. They crested it, running right into the surging mass of Orks. Bolters roared, choppers hacked, blood sprayed and men screamed. The last moments were a crescendo of sudden movements and spinning camera angles. The viewpoint marine was fighting for his life. Then, suddenly, there was a silvery flash. Liquid redness jetted past the camera. The camera pitched and slammed into the dirt. In the last shot, you could just see the dead marine's arm, lying torn off and bloodied in the dirt two feet away. An Orkish foot stomped past. Then the screen went blank.

Fegust stuck a hand up. 'They could have used the heavy bolter better. If they'd decoyed, used a marine to lure some Orks onto the gun first – they could have cut them down.'

Fegust was everyone's big surprise. Despite his poor earlier performace, he was still here. The fights on Gamma seemed to have done him good – he'd started focusing more.

'True, but decoying can get expensive in Battle-Brothers,' Fellack said. 'Anything else that they did wrong?'

Alaster stuck up his hand again.

'Cadet Karo, once more.'

'The reinforcements – what happened to them? If this squad were supposed to clear the way…'

'A big strategic failure,' Fellack agreed. 'To answer your question, the reinforcements arrived – and were slaughtered. The drop pods were already launched before the squad made their charge. This engagement was a disaster.'

'What about the geneseed, my lord?' Patreus asked.

'I understand it was all lost.'

There were gasps at this revelation.

'Yes, there was nothing to redeem this failure. Understand that I am not questioning the personal courage of these warriors – they fought bravely. Their deaths were honourable. Their commanders, however … the fight was handled badly. Mistakes were not recognised. Recovery was poor. Communications were either absent or misleading. Support weapons were not employed effectively. Mobile units were not requisitioned at the start, when they would've made a difference.

'Take these lessons to heart, Cadets. One day, some of you in this room may lead your brothers into battle. When you do, their lives are your responsibility. Don't let it end like this!

'But that is all for today. I understand that Sergeant Kodos has some more, shall we say, _practical_ tasks for you. Report to him. You are dismissed.'

The cadets saluted and filed out of the auditorium.

As they walked, blinking into the light beyond, Nasty appeared at Alaster's elbow. His eyes were blurry. 'I hate those skakking screens,' he groused. 'All that jerking and blurriness. It makes your head hurt!'

'Be grateful you've never worked in an office,' Alaster replied.

Alaster rubbed his arms, trying to get at a couple of itches. As he did he felt the muscles beneath his sleeves. He supposed, if nothing else, he was in good physical shape now. Looking at the other aspirants he saw it was true of them too. Nasty looked as tough as ever. Patreus had visibly bulked out in his upper body.

'This tactics stuff is boring,' Nasty complained. He didn't seem to rate their regular tactics and strategy sessions with the chaplain. 'When do we get to hit stuff?'

'Every day?' Alaster suggested.

'I meant for real, not training.'

'We did,' Patreus reminded him. 'Gamma, remember? Twice, as I recall.'

'Yeah but that was months ago.' Nasty was right – the aspirants had been in training for some time now. They were down to fifteen. The difference partly consisted of two drop-outs, destined to become Chapter serfs. The rest was what was euphemistically called 'training collateral'. Several of those were straight deaths, each of which had happened with shocking suddenness. Alaster found it weird, the way a familiar face could be there for ages and then – bang! – just be gone moments later. He still had nightmares about a couple of them, although he was reluctant to admit it.

There had been some closure on the deaths. It was a matter of Chapter tradition to posthumously 'graduate' the training casualties. The theory, as Kodos had explained it, was that they'd sacrificed their lives to make the Ravens stronger, so they deserved to be buried as Brother-Marines. Alaster had supposed this was the Ravens trying to be nice. It had lent a surreal aspect to the funerals. He'd watched each coffin be lowered into the ground, while an honour guard of Ravens fired their bolters in salute to the fallen.

As they walked down the corridor, Alaster noted a servitor, sweeping mechanically with a brush. Its brush swished quietly on the tiles. As they passed he surreptitiously glanced at its face – anyone they knew? No – thank the Emperor for that. A few of the 'training collateral' cases had been creepy, to say the least. Brain damage cases – bodies basically intact, but the nervous matter inside the skull injured. Aspirants reduced to drooling morons or comas. In those cases, a funeral was held and a symbolic coffin lowered into the ground – and the still-living body was sent away to be recycled as a servitor.

They said servitors had no minds and no feelings, but Alaster couldn't help but wonder. Their faces remained so human, except flat and slack-jawed. With a shiver of horror, he looked into the servitor's eyes. Blankness greeted him – no spark of life or emotion. Silently, Alaster asked the Emperor for a clean death. He hoped that if he died, it wouldn't be like that.

'Empty,' Patreus said.

Startled, Alaster looked at him. The aspirant's eyes were unfocused. His face looked abstract, distracted.

'What was that?' Nasty said.

Patreus twitched. His eyes snapped back into focus. 'Sorry – say again?'

'What was that stuff about "empty"?'

'Empty? Uh, I don't know. I think I tuned out for a moment then.' Patreus looked worried for an instant. Then he dismissed it with a shake of his head. He strode on toward the door at the corridor's end.

Behind his head, Nasty's eyes briefly met Alaster's. He lifted an eyebrow then looked away.

Alaster hurried after Patreus. He was worried about the ex-monk. Patreus seemed to be having these moments more often, since the battle at the gate. He didn't appear to be consciously aware of them. Either that or he was deeply in denial.

They left the corridor, entering into a lobby. Two staircases rose at either side and several corridors discharged into the space. Sunlight shone through an octagonal skylight above them. Chapter serfs were bustling backwars and forwards through the space, carrying boxes and equipment. They ignored the aspirants as they went about their tasks, coming and going up and down stairs and in and out of corridors. The light from the skylight darkened briefly and the floor vibrated to the sound of a loud rumble. It was yet another Thunderhawk, taking off from one of the nearby landing pads. They seemed to be averaging three or four an hour at the moment – or maybe it was the same one, shuttling back and forth.

The Ravenholme had been like this since the cadets had arrived. There were rumours of a big deployment floating about. The frenetic activity seemed to confirm them.

In the middle of the light stood Kodos, arms folded and a foot tapping on the tiles. He glared at the aspirants as they entered.

'About skakking time you layabouts showed up,' he growled.

The aspirants formed a respectful half-circle. Alaster was no longer fazed by Kodos's manner. In a way, it was almost reassuring. The sergeant's grumpy presence was the one constant in the never-ending tumult of their training.

'Okay. Now that my lord Fellack is done talking at you, I've got some real work for you. A nice work-out, get those lazy little muscles going again. I can't believe how soft we are on aspirants today – you haven't had any exercise in two and a half hours! How we're supposed to turn you into Space Marines, I don't know!'

Alaster had to suppress a smile. Kodos always had something to rant about, every time they saw him. He stood there, allowing the sergeant's words to wash over him. While he waited for Kodos's rant to finish, Alaster practised his recall of Chapter heraldry. Since Kodos was here, he'd do as a guinea pig.

Kodos was still talking. Alaster looked at his knees. The knee pads were the same lighter blue as the shoulders. On the right knee pad, Kodos wore his company badge. It was a blue-white lightning bolt inside a red triangle. Alaster frowned. That meant – fourth company. Yes, that was right. Kodos reported to Lakon, and Lakon was the fourth company's captain. Kodos's left knee pad was easier. It had the numeral 'III' on it, in lightning blue. That was simply the squad number. Alaster supposed it must have been Kodos's squad prior to being assigned to training duty. Glancing at the shoulder pads Alaster noted the Chapter symbol on Kodos's right shoulder pad and the blue-white assault cross on his left. His rank was marked by the skull on the brow of the helmet, hanging from his belt.

Now that he was getting the hang of it, Alaster was truck by the neat simplicity of the heraldic system. As long as you knew what to look for, it was easy to read. You could tell everything you really needed to know about a Raven, just by looking at him.

'…move the crates. You've got an hour! Now shift your skakking arses!' Kodos pointed at one of the stairwells. 'Senior Administrator Lesso here will show you where to go.'

A man had appeared at Kodos's side. He was dressed in a Chapter serf's robes. The silver trim on them suggested a high position, although his head was level with Kodos's chest. Presumably this was Lesso.

Lesso took them up the stairs and through a maze of lifts and passageways. Finally they found themselves in a large chamber filled with ammo crates.

'These need taking out to the Thunderhawk,' Lesso told them. He pointed to one of the doors. 'The launch pad is through that way. Just walk down that corridor.'

Alaster could feel a breeze coming from the door. The corridor was angled so he couldn't see out of it, but he could hear faint sounds from outside. There was an acrid tang of fuel in the air.

'Just stack them on the pad for now. You'll have to load them later but they need to go in particular slots. Best to get them out first.'

Alaster suspected the real reason was to increase their labour. He knew better then to say anything, though.

Lesso glanced at his watch. 'Right, that's two minutes down. Kodos gave you an hour. Better make the best of the remaining fifty-eight.' He walked off, unhurriedly, back they way they'd come.

Nasty looked at the crates and groaned. 'There's loads!'

Alaster sighed. 'Let's get on with it.'

The aspirants organised themselves quickly and quietly. There were two sizes of crates – big and small. The small ones could be carried by one person, the bigger ones needed two. They split themselves into groups of three, to take one small crate and one big one. As usual, Alaster was with Nasty and Patreus.

They elected to rotate the heavy crates, to manage the strain on their arms. Nasty and Alaster took the first big one, Patreus a smaller one.

The crate was heavy. Alaster grunted as he lifted it, hands grasping the handle.

'Skak this,' Nasty complained. 'You don't see Space Marines carrying these! Lazy bastards!'

Alaster boggled at the image of a lazy marine.

'Actually you do,' Patreus pointed out as they started off down the corridor. 'Remember the first day, on Delta? With the librarian and his tent?'

'Yeah, thanks for that, smart arse.'

Patreus seemed to have got used to Nasty's manner these days. He just snorted. The soles of their boots flapped on the floor as they walked. Alaster grunted as his foot briefly caught on something.

'Hey, watch it!' Nasty snapped, almost stumbling.

'Sorry!'

Patreus looked ahead. They could see the door now, daylight spilling through. Blue sky beckoned. 'So Nasty – if you know everything already, how're you doing on the heraldry?'

'Like I have time for that colour skak.'

'You don't know, do you.'

'Of course I do!'

'Course you do. So tell me – what does the grey shoulder pad trim signify?'

Nasty fell silent. Alaster tried not to smile.

'Thought so,' Patreus nodded. 'I'll give you a reminder. It's two things.'

Nasty concentrated. 'The Space Wolves?'

'That was a guess, wasn't it? But you're right – one reason is to honour one of the parent chapters. The other is it's the colour of clouds – and we're the Storm Ravens, so that makes sense.'

They were out in the sun now. They high up here, the Ravenholme stretching out behind them. In the distance to the other side Alaster could see the sea. The Thunderhawk was sat to their left, cargo hatch open. They shuffled over, arms sore already from the heavy crate.

'Just there should do,' Alaster said, nodding toward the hatch. They gratefully lowered the crate down next to it. Patreus deposited his with it.

Nasty glared at him. 'If you're going to pepper me with questions, you can take the next heavy one. Have fun with stumbler Karo here!'

'Hey!' Alaster protested. They had started walking back to the corridor.

Patreus ignored Alaster. 'Okay. But it doesn't get you off the hook. The raven insignia – what's that for?'

'That's easy. The Raven Guard.'

'Well done. I won't ask about the lightning – that's pretty obvious, storms and stuff.' As he spoke, they passed into the shadow of the corridor.

Nasty looked puffed up. Grinning smartly, he said, 'The blue-black everywhere else – that's the colour of the stormy sky, cos that's what we do. Bring the storm, right?'

Patreus nodded. 'One more to you. But what about the other blue, on the shoulders?'

Nasty's grin froze. 'Uh,' he said.

They were halfway to the armaments room. They stepped to one side to make room for Sandrer, Fegust and another aspirant as they passed with their crates.

'The clue is the shade,' Patreus said.

'Uh.'

They walked into the storeroom. 'The Ultramarines,' Patreus reminded Nasty. 'We might not get on with them so well – but that's where our geneseed came from. We don't deny our origins, even if they don't like us.'

'Skakkers,' Nasty remarked eloquently. 'Well, that's that nonsense revised.'

'Yeah, now we can do the knee symbols,' Alaster said, smiling.

Nasty's face fell.

Patreus and Alaster moved to pick up the next big crate. Nasty grabbed his and they set off.

Forty-five minutes later, the crates were all stacked neatly beside the Thunderhawk. Kodos chose that moment to appear. The aspirants formed another respectful half-cirle.

Kodos looked disparagingly at them. 'Three quarters of an hour,' he remarked. 'You lot are slow – and not just upstairs, either.'

They were ready fifteen minutes ahead of schedule but Alaster decided not to point that out.

'All right, your next task is to get this lot piled up on board the Tunderhawk. Big crates in the red racks, little ones in the blue. Big, red, little, blue. Got that? Not too hard for you? Good.'

As he was still apt to sometimes, Fegust decided to butt in. 'Sergeant – what then?'

'Then, Cadet, you get strapped in,' Kodos told them.

Alaster blinked. Strapped in?

Kodos regarded them with a sarcastic glint in his organic eye. 'Oh, you weren't listening at the briefing, were you? Oh, of course, you weren't there – maggots like you don't get invited. Anyway, we're going on a little jaunt. Lucky us. Apparently they have a vacant slot for manual labour in the Fafnir Campaign.'

Nasty boggled. 'We're leaving the system?'

The wind rustled quietly around them.

'Well yes, obviously, you thick skakker. It'd be a bit difficult to get to Riothria without leaving the Octalian System, given that it's two sectors away! Anyway, with everyone shipping out for Fafnir, there's a lot of setting-up to do. You're not particularly adequate, but we're short on warm bodies, so you'll have to do.' He walked along the semicircle, inspecting them. Grudgingly, he added, 'And since some of you've been shot at and you actually didn't run away … Well, I suppose that won't hurt on a combat deployment.'

'Combat?' Nasty asked excitedly.

The wind ruffled Alaster's hair. His hand felt cold smoothness – without conscious thought, it had gone to the grip of his bolt pistol. He swallowed. He tried to look unconcerned.

Kodos looked irritated. 'You're not going to the front, if that's what you're thinking.'

Nasty looked disappointed. Alaster, to his shame, felt a sneaking sense of relief.

Kodos continued, 'No – we're going out there as support. That means me as well, since I have to babysit you skakkers. You have no idea how pissed I am about that. You'd better be grateful - I'm going to be missing the fighting for you lot!'

'What will our duties be, Sergeant?' Alaster heard a voice – oh, it was himself. He'd spoken without thought.

'Whatever you're given,' Kodos replied. 'Mainly boring stuff – digging latrines, putting up tents, helping out at base. That kind of thing. You might end up doing the cooking.'

Nasty groaned.

'Don't make that whining noise again, Cadet. And anyway, that'd be an honour. It's not everyone the Chapter trusts with its food. But anyway, you'll be keeping those guns with you. We're not planning to send you to the frontline but it might come to you.'

'How likely is that?' Alaster asked.

Kodos shrugged. 'Who knows? It can't be predicted. Battle plans don't survive the enemy.'

'Why bother planning, then?' Nasty asked.

'If we don't plan then we don't survive the enemy. A plan can always be changed but being shot is kind of permanent. You should have workd that out by now, Cadet.' Kodos paused for a moment. Then, in a generous tone, he added, 'Although I suppose I should account for your stupidity, Cadet Shepherd. Maybe you haven't got it just yet.'

'Do we know where we'll be?' Pareus asked.

'Yes. Snake Outpost. It's on a big island in the Hydra Delta, on Riothria Minoris. You'll be assisting with set-up. Once that's done you're pulling guard duty. You'll be with a company of local Guardsmen.'

'That's reassuring,' Patreus said.

'No it skakking isn't. The Riothrian regiments are as hard as yoghurt. And maybe twice as runny.'

'That bad?' Nasty asked.

'Worse,' Kodos replied. 'A couple of weeks ago a load of them were packed off to one of the systems in Fafnir's path, to try and tie it up. They didn't even manage to slow it down. We got some recordings back from it. I've watched the footage. It was – well, frankly, it was just an embarrassment. A lot of them didn't even fire their lasguns before they legged it.'

Alaster frowned. 'What about the commissars?'

Kodos shrugged. 'From the film I saw, there were too many runners to shoot. And anyway, the commissar got squashed under the stampede.'

Nasty started laughing.

'You think it's funny, Cadet? No it skakking isn't. They could've held that position, if they'd stood and fought. Instead they tried to run. Sadly, the Nids are faster. I didn't hear much about survivors. A few fleet pickets who jumped out at the last minute, not much else. Tragic, really. A lot of men dead, and there wasn't even honour in their ends.'

The wind moaned again. Alaster shivered. He felt cold.

Kodos looked at them all, each in turn. His manner changed, just a little. 'You shouldn't let the deployment worry you. Just take a minute and think about where you've been. This is the sixth month of your training. You've been with us half a year. You're already better trained then most Guardsmen. Your armour's no worse then theirs – I'd say a bit better, actually. Your guns are good enough. And I've seen you fight. You can easily match the Riothrian Guard for bravery. You've stood against zealous fools. You've stood against xeno foulness. You may've known fear, but you didn't run and you weren't defeated. You can handle guarding a base.'

Alaster was startled. Was that – praise? From _Kodos_? What was going on? The looks on the other aspirants' faces mirrored his confusion.

'So don't expect much from the local Guard. You never know, they might be some use, but don't count on it. You'll be joined by a contingent of aspirants for the Sixth Company. That means I'm going to work your skakking bollocks off. I'm not having us look bad in front of the Sixth.'

Patreus looked awed. 'There are other aspirants?'

The sergeant's voice hardened. 'Of course there are, you idiot. Every company needs recruits.' Kodos looked around the landing pad. 'We have eight companies running training camps this year. The Fourth started with five hundred aspirants. The numbers vary a bit, but this year the Chapter started with four thousand aspirants in total.'

Alaster gawped at the number. The chapter was outnumbered four to one – by a single year's potential intake!

Kodos noticed his reaction. 'The recruitment target is twenty minimum, Chapter-wide,' he said. 'Fourth needs at least five – last year was costly. Don't know if we're going to get it this year – but we'll see.'

Nasty looked puzzled.

'What, Cadet Shepherd?'

'You said eight companies, Sergeant. Aren't there ten?'

'Yes there are, Cadet.'

'Then what about the other two?'

Kodos looked exasperated. 'Shepherd, are you slow or something? Have you even listened to Fellack's talks? If you had you'd know the answer. Cadet Patreus – you should know. Tell him!'

Patreus blinked. Then he swelled with pride under the attention. 'The First Company is the Raven Lord's only force. It's made of veterans only, all of them have Terminator training. Squads can compete to join after a century's service. The Tenth Company is the veteran-scouts. They recruit from the other companies – individual marines can try for the Tenth after eighty years.'

Kodos nodded. 'Damn right. That's the way it is. Every marine enters the Chapter through the assault squads. A man can't call himself a Raven if he hasn't worn a jump pack. Not if he doesn't want to look like an idiot, anyway.'

Kodos fell silent for a moment. There was a distant rumble as a Thunderhawk lifted off from another launchpad, on one of the other wings of the Ravenholme. Alaster watched it rise into the sky, a trail of vapour pointing toward its dwindling shape. The afterburners kicked in and it vanished toward the stratosphere.

'Oh yeah, talking of not looking like idiots. There are three other Chapters deploying to Riothria with us. Fafnir's a major campaign. You probably won't meet the others, but if you do, try not to embarrass us.'

'Who else is going, Sergeant?' Patreus asked.

Kodos ticked them off on his fingers. 'There's the Space Wolves. Try not to skak up in front of them, okay? It'd be nice if they thought we weren't a mistake. There's the Red Hawks – I don't know much about them, except that they're red. There's a force from the Doom Eagles – they're a bit weird, stay away from them if you can. Oh, and there's some Ultramarines.'

'Ultramarines?'

'Yes. You know what I said about good behaviour? Well that applies to them too, okay? We might not like them, but they're still our brothers.'

'How does that work?' Nasty asked.

'Well the Astartes is one big family, right? Older brothers, younger brothers and the Emperor is the father and Humanity the mother. But families have squabbles, don't they? We're related but we don't always get on – but we're still related. If any of you try and start any blood feuds, I'll skakking well have your hide. Understood?'

'Yes Sergeant,' they all chorused.


	13. Chapter 13 Seven Days of Failure

'Score!'

Alaster tripped over the offending foot. He slammed into the dirty soil. A huge puff of dust exploded up around him. He looked up just in time to see the ball slam into the net on the far side of the pitch.

'Skak!' From the dirt, he swore to himself.

A whistle blew, loudly. 'Time over!' a voice bellowed. 'Team Thandess have four, Team Kodos three.'

The other team's fans were jumping up and down on the sidelines, screaming for joy. They'd won. Alaster lay there for a moment, feeling gutted. A shadow appeared on the dirt next to him.

'Nice try, loser,' a voice said from above him. The shadow moved. Sudden pain flared in Alaster's side. He felt the boot dig into his ribs.

'Oh, sorry, was that you?' The voice was mocking and insincere. 'Teach for you for lying there.'

The shadow turned and walked away.

Humiliation and rage burned inside Alaster, pulsing with the throbbing in his side. He dragged himself to his feet. Cadet Sarok was walking off, over to his side. The spectators were mobbing him, cheering and waving things. Stood behind them and looking down on them was Sergeant Thandess, arms folded over his breastplate. The marine nodded to Sarok, just slightly. Sarok beamed smugly. His sycophants cheered louder.

Alaster realised his hands were balled. He wanted to walk over there and punch that grin off of Sarok's annoying face.

A quiet voice spoke from beside him. 'I could do the skaktard over, if you'd like. No-one'd know. He'd just go one night.'

Alaster had a bizarre urge to hug Nasty. How wonderful to hear someone else repeat his own frustrations! 'They'd find the body.'

'No they wouldn't. I've done this before, remember.'

'Yeah, and weren't they going to hang you? I presume they must've found the bodies then.'

Nasty shrugged. 'Practise makes perfect, right?'

Alaster sighed. 'Come on. Let's go back. Glaring at him isn't going to help.'

They walked back to their side of the pitch. Kodos was waiting with the other aspirants. Unlike the other sergeant, Kodos didn't look pleased. 'That was pathetic,' he said. 'That's our sixth day here – our sixth match! – and you still haven't won.'

'We got four this time, Sergeant,' Alaster said lamely, feeling a need to defend himself. 'That's out best score so far.'

'There's no second prize in a fight. I need winners, not whiners. Well, I guess you know where the crates are by now. Get moving! Dinner isn't going to wait up. If you're not done by chow time, well, it'll be a hungry night.'

Kodos stomped off, toward the camp's tents.

With grumbling and sullen glances at Alaster and the other team-members, the aspirants divided up for the labour ahead. They found their way to the scrubby path leading down from the hilltop. The supplies dump was at the bottom of the track, with its little collection of tents. Alaster looked at the grey-green canvases as they walked down the track.

Patreus joined them. His face was stormy with moral outrage. 'You were going to score. He tripped you up! That's cheating.'

Alaster shrugged. He winced as he pulled the new bruise at his side. 'Yeah, I suppose it is.'

'We should complain.'

'Fat lot of good that will do,' Nasty said sourly.

Alaster nodded philosophically. 'Yeah, you're probably right. He'd just tell us we shouldn't let ourselves get beat. Oh well, Sarok can't win forever. We'll get the smug bastard eventually.'

They fell silent. It was strange, meeting the Sixth's aspirants. No-one amongst the Fours liked them much. Some of them seemed okay, but Sarok dominated the group. He was hard to avoid. He was the Sixers' golden boy. They all universally agreed that he was going to make it, that it would just be a matter of time before he was sent off for geneseed. The idea that Sarok might fail seemed alien to the Sixes. Sarok pretended to be modest, around his groupies, but away from them he was obnoxious.

Patreus was right. Sarok had tripped Alaster up. He did things like that. The marines either didn't spot it or didn't care. Sarok also liked getting other people in trouble. Two nights ago, one of the Fours had fallen asleep on sentry duty. Sarok had seen it and immediately went to tell Sergeant Thandess. Kodos had been enraged – and, Alaster got the impression, just a little embarrassed too. The unfortunate sentry was made to do twenty laps of the base and put on bread and water for four days.

Throughout this scene, Sarok had been stood there, hands on hips, smiling slightly, with an oily gleam in his eyes. It was at that moment that Alaster had taken a genuine disliking to Sarok.

As if reading his mind, Nasty said, 'The sooner Sarok gets geneseed, the better. Let's hope it's soon. He'll make a nice snack for some lucky Nid out there.'

'That's a horrible thing to say,' Patreus said, 'but I kind of agree with you on this one.'

They reached the bottom of the hill. Snake Outpost was positioned on the highest point of the island, here in the Delta. The landscape was an odd mix of marsh and scrubland. Not far from here the land transitioned to desert – the River Hydra flowed down from the central mountain range on Minoris's Alpha continent. It had its birth in the glacial melts at altitude. That range blocked the prevailing winds, however – the land beyond it was arid. For hundreds of miles, the Hydra was the only source of water. All of the settlement in this area was grouped along its course. It was also the main artery for inland trade – not three miles from here was a wide channel down which flat-bottomed ferries worked their way inland, carrying cargoes from elsewhere on Riothria Minoris. The strategic importance of the delta was huge – hence the presence of the outpost.

The outpost was still being set up. The chapter-serf construction crews were working on the really important things, like the walls and the gun turrets. That left the aspirants to do the heavy lifting. Kodos had spoke the truth on the first day – they really were the bottom of the pile here.

A pity that Sarok apparently felt he deserved more.

Alaster found himself stood before the crates. More ammunition, hundreds of shells for the outpost's heavy bolters, all neatly stacked in their boxes. The stash had its own odour, of metal and oil.

'Well,' Alaster said, 'let's get a move-on.'

Half an hour of heavy lifting ensued. When the last of the crates were stowed at the top of hill, next to the rising shape of the outpost, Alaster and the others breathed a sigh of relief. They had nearly ten minutes left before dinner!

Unsure of what to do with this surprising interlude of free time, the aspirants milled around. The mess tent was off to their left and some forty feet away. To their immediate right was the the outpost, a roughly-circular structure twenty metres wide by about nine high. The uppermost floor was still framework, open to the elements. The central prefabricated turret, already in place, loomed over it like a demented tower. The first of the guns poked out of a port near its top. The outpost stood out in shadow against the darkening sky. It was splashed with pinkish light along its sun-facing side.

For their part, Riothria's twin suns were sinking fast in the east. Alaster stared into the sunset, feeling confused again. Sunrise and sunset – they were in the wrong places here! As if that wasn't bad enough, the sky was dominated by the blue-white-green crescent of Riothria Majoris. After sunset, if you looked carefully, you could just see a few points of light on the nightside – the bigger hives, visible even from space. It was weird – he knew intellectually Majoris was nearly a million klicks away and yet it still looked huge. It was twice as big in the sky as the Moon seemed back home.

Home. Alaster looked up into the sky. The stars weren't out yet, they wouldn't be visible for at least another half-hour. The suns were still lurking at the horizon. But he knew that if he looked off to the left from Majoris, and up a bit, just so, he'd be looking straight back home. He tried every night to glimpse Octalis, but the sun he'd known for the last fifteen years eluded him amongst the stars.

'You won't see it, you know.' Alaster twitched – Kodos had crept up on them again! How did he do it? 'It's too faint. Your eyes can't find it at this distance. Mine can but frankly, it's not worth it. Just another little dot.'

Almost to himself, Alaster said, 'We're a long way from home.'

'That you are, lad, that you are.' For a moment, Kodos was contemplative. Then his tone hardened. 'The galaxy's a big place. Get used to it. If you walk around everywhere gawping like that, no-one's going to take you seriously.'

Alaster looked down, trying not to look too abashed.

'Okay,' Kodos said, 'just a quick heads-up for you all, before you get stuffed and lazy at dinner. We've got some new arrivals tomorrow.'

Nasty looked intrigued. 'Who, Sergeant?'

There was a grumpy look in Kodos's eyes. 'There's two lots of them. Some of our allies – scouts.'

Alaster's attention picked up. Kodos clearly meant the Space Marine variety.

Nasty's face was suddenly wary. He was looking at Kodos closely. 'Ultras?'

'Yes - Ultramarines,' Kodos confirmed sourly. 'The two squads are doing reconnaissance of the local area. The strategy people reckon there's a good chance of a Nid landing somewhere near here – apparently there's gaps in the missile coverage. That's why we're here, of course.

'Anyway, they'll be here for a couple of days. I'm telling you because I want you all on your best behaviour. Chapter serfs are one thing but you're aspirants. They'll be grading us on how you act.'

'If an Ultra falls over in the forest, does anyone care?' quipped Nasty

'I won't have us look like fools around them,' Kodos barked. 'They don't like us - I don't want anything to confirm their stupid opinions. You got that? No skakking up tomorrow, and that's an order.'

***

'Kodos! Good to see you!'

'Thandess, by the Emperor, you look uglier every day!' The door banged shut behind Kodos. He was grinning broadly as he walked into the grandly-named Sergeants' Mess Room at the outpost. A grand name for a small space – between the table, the chairs and the two Space Marines, it was almost filled. The walls were plain wooden planking and the floor and ceiling were formed from grey prefab tiles. The ceiling was held up by dull metallic trusses. The light came from a single bulb, hung from a cord.

'Speak for yourself, you old dog!' Thandess was grinning too.

The first-floor room's window overlooked the tent that was the Enlisted Mess. The noise coming up from there confirmed the rougher conditions. Small as it was, at least the Sergeants' Mess enjoyed some privacy. It was night outside. The tent below glowed with the light of its lamps. Ammo dumps and other tents on the hillside were picked out against the dark with the silvery light of Majoris.

Kodos dragged one of the chairs over. The legs squeaked on the floor. Kodos dumped his bulk onto it. The chair groaned in protest against the weight of the armoured marine.

'So how are you, you old bastard?' he asked.

Thandess reached out and lifted a flagon off the shelf under the window. He tugged out the stopper with a pop. He picked up a spare tankard off the shelf and poured Kodos a generous measure of beer. He handed the vessel over. 'All the better for a few of these, thank you.'

Kodos took it with a grateful expression. 'Thanks for that. It's good to see you. Been a while.'

'Twenty years since we were last on the same deployment,' Thandess agreed.

'That long? By the throne, the time goes, doesn't it?'

'We don't have quiet lives,' the other Raven agreed.

Kodos raised the tankard and drank deeply. 'That's good,' he announced. 'Local?'

Thandess nodded. 'Yes. Not strong enough for us, of course, but the flavour's fine. They're good with ale in this system.'

'All the more reason to send the Nids packing, then. Decent ale is hard to find.'

'You speak truly, Brother.'

Kodos laughed. 'So how long've you been here?'

'We arrived four weeks ago, with the serfs.'

Kodos looked around, at the room. 'You've been busy,' he said.

Thandess nodded modestly. 'I have a pack of aspirants to beat the crap out of.'

'Any literally?'

Thandess waved a hand from side to side. 'The odd flogging. Nothing that stands out. You?'

Kodos shrugged. 'Lakon's less keen on CP. I mostly agree – we keep it back for when they really need a kicking. That way they're more likely to remember. If you use the rod too much, they stop noticing after a while.'

'What, you mean like us?'

Kodos snorted. 'Yeah, something like that.'

'Remember that time we got fifty lashes off of Old One-eye? I've still got the scars.'

'Yeah – but it was worth it. The look on his face!'

'Sneaking that fish into his holster was – now that was mad. Inspired, but still mad.'

'Well it served him right for leaving it open like that.'

Thandess refilled his tankard. The beer glugged as it was poured. He put the flagon down and put the cap back in. 'Those were good days. Never thought I'd miss being an aspie – but I do, sometimes, now.'

'Simpler life and all that, I know.' Kodos shrugged. 'Problem is, it was false simplicity. It was only simpler because we were ignorant. If we'd known half what we do know, you know, about the galaxy, we'd have been just as driven.'

'True.' Thandess nodded. He gulped down some beer. 'Damn but that was good.'

'So now we're talking shop again – what do you think of my lot?'

'They sound promising,' Thandess said. 'But it's awkward – I was really hoping they'd kick that little skakker Sarok.'

'Really?' Kodos was surprised. 'I thought he was the bright hope.'

'Skak no!' Thandess was vehement. 'He's a nasty little sneak who rats out on his mates. He'll get geneseed over my cold, dead body.'

'Why's he still here, then?'

'Because he's a sneaky skakker. He knows exactly what he can get away with. He hasn't technically done anything that's out of line yet. Like that business with your sentry.'

Kodos winced. 'Sandrer deserved what he got.'

'Yes, true, reporting it was technically by the book. But we all know what he should've done. Given him a poke in the ribs and told him not to nod off, not go running to Daddy. I would've taken him away for one of those chats – but he did it while I was talking with some of the serfs.'

'I didn't know he waited for witnesses.'

'Yeah, he made sure I had to do something. He wanted to screw your man, that was obvious. I think he feels threatened by your lot. I mean, they've actually been in combat. Twice. All he's done is build himself a little clique.'

'Dare I say it but … an accident, perhaps?'

'I'm a Space Marine, not a murderer.'

'You don't have to kill them. Aspie legs break easily enough.'

'It's tempting. But I'd like to see the rest of them take him down. It'd be good for them if they did – their morale would improve so much. And their courage. Actually, I was hoping your lot would lamp him the other day.'

'That little incident at the ball pitch?'

'Yes. I'm surprised Karo let that go.'

Kodos shrugged. 'He's basically a nice kid. That's his problem – he's still not nasty enough yet. Shepherd and Patreus have been working on him – it's made some difference, but there's a way to go yet. Plus he's trying to be obedient and uncomplaining. He probably thinks if he did smack Sarok, it'd be a disciplinary offence. Or something.'

'Technically, yes,' Thandess shrugged. 'But somehow, I have this odd feeling when that fist lands – well, I might just happen to be looking off the wrong way.'

Kodos snorted again. 'Yes, me too. Funny these little lapses, isn't it? It must be our old age. And of course if we don't see it, then for the records, it didn't happen.'

They both laughed.

Kodos drank some more beer. 'Anyway, it might sort itself out. I think Cadet Shepherd might have something planned for our dear friend Sarok.'

'Shepherd – hang on, he's the murderer, isn't he?'

'That's right.' Kodos nodded. 'Calls himself Nasty, too. It kind of fits – I've caught myself doing it a couple of times.'

'How do you rate him?'

'Higher then you might expect. In his own way, he's honest enough. He's a criminal but he doesn't make any bones about it. And he doesn't tattle on his mates, so he's loyal, in his own way. He's brave, too.'

'Those are things we'd want from a Raven.'

'Yeah. But in a way, he has the opposite of Karo's problem. He's not thick by any means but he's not diligent either. He's only got this far because Karo and Patreus have been coaching him – Fellack was convinced he'd fail the Chapter histories. And although he's tough, he's not disciplined. Sometimes he just misbehaves for the sake of it.'

'And Patreus?'

'Dedicated, hard-working, faithful – and weirdly naïve, sometimes.'

'Oh dear.'

'Yes. I gather there was skakked-up stuff at the monastery he's from. He and Karo had a lengthy chat about it back on Gamma. I don't think they knew I could hear every word.' Kodos grinned sardonically. 'Anyway, I think he's come to see the wider Imperial church as the one great shining hope. Given that we have our own religious customs – well, that's going to be a wrench for him. It could be a problem.'

'On the other hand, they've taken on the Dark Eldar.'

'That they have, my friend. And they accounted well for themselves. There were some missed opportunities and several silly slip-ups – but they didn't run, they didn't lose and they didn't bring shame on the Chapter.'

Thandess nodded. 'So if you could average your lot?'

Kodos rolled his eyes. 'Do you know, that is exactly what I said to Lakon?'

'Well great minds think alike, obviously.'

'Me a great mind?' Kodos rapped on his breastplate with his free hand. 'If I was smart, I wouldn't be wearing this. No, we'd be wealthy bankers or something.'

'And be dead and buried from old age by now. With nothing to show for our lives but money. We may not've made the smart choice – but I think we made the wise one.'

'Well-spoken, Brother. At this rate the Raven Lord will have you writing his speeches.'

'Talkingof wisdom, what do you think about our guests tomorrow?'

Kodos looked pensive. 'It should be okay. They shouldn't be here too long. But…' He shrugged.

'But what?'

'I don't know. I just have a bad feeling, that's all. I keep thinking something will go wrong.'

Thandess frowned. Outside, the muffled sound from the Enlisted Mess grew louder. Yellowish light spilled over the ground outside as someone opened the tent flap. The flap fell down and the noise quietened. Bootsoles clicked quietly on the path as the evening's next sentries went to take their places. 'What can go wrong? The Ultramarines come here, get themselves ready and go off. It's all simple.'

'I don't know. I can't out my finger on it but something was bothering me earlier. The construction crews you've got – they're all serfs, arent't they? No locals?'

'We couldn't get quite enough of the serfs, unfortunately. We're borrowing some men from the Octalian 8th's Engineering Division. They owe us a couple of favours and they've been packed off out here too. But no, we don't have any local contractors.'

Kodos sighed. 'I guess I'm just paranoid. We've just been having so many problems with outsiders recently.'

'I heard about the spaceport – and that fool at the gate. An awful business. You do have to wonder what's going on in these throne-damned skakkers' heads. What have we ever done to them?'

'That's easy enough.' Kodos shrugged cynically. 'We take away their sons and kill a lot of them. Doesn't take a genius to figure they don't like it.'

'We don't do it because we enjoy it! We do it because it's necessary!'

'Yes, and you're preaching to the converted, Brother. But try explaining that to Random B. Monkey on the street. It's like what we were saying earlier, about making choices. The people out there, they just don't have our experience. They don't understand – they can't understand. So some of them resent us. They see our status and our privileges. It makes them angry. They see the strength the geneseed gives us and they wonder why we're allowed to be different when they aren't.'

'Skakking civilians,' Thandess said. 'We surrender our humanity in life so others don't have to in death.'

Kodos shrugged. 'Yes – but they don't get that. Oh, we do what we can. We make sure the families get looked after. We try our best with our aspirants. We push ourselves as much as we push them – but that's never going to be enough for some. And we can't ask a man who isn't ready to become a Raven.'

They were silent for a short while.

Thandess drained his tankard. 'Anyway, tomorrow. You were saying about problems then. The Ultramarines turn up, they have a good sneer. Then they piss off into the wilderness. Annoying, but no real problem. There's nothing to worry about.'

Kodos stared off out through the window. He was silent as he regarded the night beyond.

* * *

'I can't believe we're waiting skakking tables!'

'Shut up and carry!' Patreus hissed back at Nasty. Plates clinked as Nasty adjusted his awkwardly-balanced load.

As he juggled his assigned plates, Alaster tried to ignore their banter. As he made his way through the field kitchen, he could hear the sounds of the feast in the tent outside. There were drunken yells and cheers and the sounds of cutlery clanking eagerly on crockery. The Storm Ravens liked feasting and they liked beer and the aspirants were no different in that regards. The Chapter had inherited its tastes from the Space Wolves. It was only polite to honour the visit of brother warriors with a great feast.

Even if those brother warriors were Ultramarines.

They'd show up earlier in the day, along with a supply convoy and some soldiers from the Octalian 8th. Alaster had watched them arrive. He'd seen the sneering look on their sergeants' faces as they'd taken in the Ravens' standard, flying proudly from the outpost.

Kodos and Thandess were responding to the rudeness with aggressive politeness. They were determined the Ultramarines should have no legitimate grievance during their stay. As a further sign of this pointed respect, the aspirants had been drafted in to wait on the tables. Alaster wondered if this was the two sergeants putting one over their guests – he dismissed that thought as unworthy.

'Well,' he said, 'we'd better get moving.'

The aspirants were on shifts. Alaster and his companions had a quarter of an hour to go until they could quietly swap places with others. Alaster was looking forward to joining the feast – the raucous noise out there made it sound like fun was being had out there.

They made their way out through the cloth door-flap, into the main section of the feasting tent. It was a big space, lit by a line of glowing bulbs hung from the central beam overhead. Tables were arrayed in neat double-rows. At the front, raised up on a platform, was the top table. There were four men sat at it – Kodos, Thandess and two Space Marines in sea-blue armour. The white U-symbol on their shoulders confirmed their identity as Ultramarines. They both had shaved heads; one of them had three jagged scars running along his scalp and down to his brows. Alaster wondered what had caused that – it looked like something with claws had taken a swipe at the man. The other Ultramarine had a big patch of baby-smooth skin on the left side of his face, from his nose to his ear. An obvious graft, Alaster realised – his training suggested severe burns as a likely reason for that.

Alaster tried not to stare at them as he made his way between the tables. Seeing Marines who weren't wearing the Storm Ravens' colours felt odd. Almost instinctively, he'd come to see the blue-black and grey as the natural colours for Space Marines. He'd known intellectually that every Chapter had its own uniform, but seeing it was something else entirely. The sense of confusion between instinct and knowledge was familiar – it was how he'd felt on that first day, stood before and beneath Brother Thaddeus's enormous form. Knowing was one thing but seeing was something else all together. At that moment, Alaster was reminded by just how far he and his companions had to go.

The order he was carrying was for one of the scouts' tables. Protocol had given them the two front tables, immediately below the sergeants' dais. The sergeants normally ate in their own mess but Alaster gathered it wasn't big enough for four marines at once.

As he walked forward, Alaster couldn't resist another glance at the top table. Kodos and Thandess looked like they were having a good time. They were trying to engage their two fellow diners in conversation. One of the Ultramarines was talking, although he looked unenthusiastic. The expression on the other's face, however, reminded Alaster of the looks on the faces of the other students at his school during catechism lessons. It was clear that Ultramarine would pay good money to be anywhere but here.

Alaster could feel disapproval tugging at his lips. They could at least make an effort! It wasn't like anyone around here really wanted them there either. He managed to keep his face politely neutral as he approached the tables. He had to pick his way carefully across the compacted-earth floor. Bits of litter and pools of spilt drink made the footing treacherous in places.

He was just passing one of the Sixth Company aspirants' tables. Out of the corner of his eye, Alaster noted Sarok was sat just ahead and to his right. Carefully, he resisted the urge to glare at Sarok. He looked away, across the room-

Underfoot, something splashed.

For a moment, Alaster was confused. Then his foot squished. The sole sank into the small puddle's muddy bottom. His stride interrupted, Alaster staggered.

His stack of plates shuddered and tilted. They began to fall. He grabbed at the stack with his other hand. The tilt stopped but a jug tipped forward.

Alaster watched, unable to do anything, as it fell to its side. It hit the plate with a clank. A plume of water sprayed out – straight over Sarok's back.

The aspirant jerked. The table around him fell silent. He turned and scowled at Alaster.

Everyone on the table was looking at him. Alaster felt like an animal in the headlights. 'Uh, sorry!' he said.

Sarok's eyebrows twitched. 'You will be, dumb skakker,' he growled.

'Well I said I'm sorry – but it was an accident.' Alaster freed his hand and righted the jug. He felt something shift inside him. Sarok's rudeness was suddenly too much. Since the jumped-up little twit had got here, they'd had nothing but sabotage and snarkiness. Alaster was suddenly very angry. He wanted nothing better then to punch Sarok's arrogant lights out.

Trying to control his temper, he turned away. He slowly turned his back on Sarok. Go on, Alaster wanted to say, go on – take the first swing. You know you want to. He raised his foot and took the first step away. Come on, you skakker – take a swing at me. Alaster was determined to make Sarok swing first – that way no-one could argue with it when he laid the skakker out. Alaster knew he could; the sessions he'd had with Nasty and Patreus, on top of his actual training, had made a real difference.

He took another step. Nothing happened.

One more and still no fist. Angry and disappointed, Alaster kept walking through the crowd. How typical – Sarok, it seemed, had a cowardly streak. He'd go on the attack when he knew he could get away with it – but only then.

The sounds of the feasting-tent surrounded him. He could smell the rich aromas of food. Spices and meats and gravy – his stomach rumbled. It added to Alaster's bleak mood. Trying to distract himself, he looked up at the sergeants' table. Surprised, he noticed Kodos and the other marines were getting to their feet. They made no announcement but quietly filed out through the flap behind them. Alaster wondered where they were going – then he supposed they must be going to private conference or something.

The tent flap swung down, closing behind them.

Alaster approached his assigned table. There were five Ultramarine scouts sat at it. They all had identical crew-cut hair but they were very different otherwise. Their heights ranged from slightly less than Alaster to one brute who was just shy of seven feet tall. Even sat down, his head was level with Alaster's. Alaster supposed they must be at different stages of geneseed implantation.

The big one was talking to someone Alaster didn't recognise. The man was a Guardsman, Alaster noted. His dark green, gold-trimmed dress jacket suggested the Octalian 8th. Alaster wondered what he was doing in here – the Guard detachment were having their own dinner in one of the other tents. Alaster looked closer at the man's face. A short, neatly-trimmed moustache, grey eyes and dark hair – he was nondescript.

Alaster approached the table. He began to put down the orders, as instructed.

He noted the Ultramarines were giving him unfriendly looks. Great – another round of unnecessary unpleasantness. Alaster did his best not to show his irritation. This was proving to be a miserable evening.

He noted the Guardsman was staring at him, too. The man looked like he'd just swallowed dog-skak. Mordantly Alaster wondered what he'd ever done to this man. Alaster averted his eyes and carried on setting plates.

He was just putting one down in front of the big scout when the crisis began.

'You.' The big scout looked straight at Alaster, with belligerence. 'Is it true?'

'What?' Startled, Alaster almost dropped the plate. 'I mean, my apologies Brother-Scout, but could you repeat that?' The man's tone had been so rude – Alaster felt his anger rise again.

'Is it true? That you have them whipped like dogs?'

Alaster stared, baffled. 'Who gets whipped?' he asked.

The big scout jerked a thumb at the Guardsman. 'He says your serfs do.'

Alaster stared at the man. 'And who the skak are you?' he asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the sergeants' table was still empty.

'I'm talking to you,' the big scout growled. 'Look at me when you speak, cur!'

Alaster blinked at the over-the-top insult. 'Sorry, but I'm not really sure what this is about. I've never seen anyone get whipped.' Except us, he added mentally.

'Your brutality disgusts me.' The scout stood up. He was twitching.

Alaster was aware that the room had fallen quiet. People were looking their way. 'Look, if you'll just let me finish serving, I'll be off.' He reached for the remaining plate.

A had swotted out of the air. There was a spasm of pain at the wrist. The impact slammed Alaster's hand away. 'Ow.' Alaster stared up at the scout. 'Was that really necessary?' He could feel the anger rising again. His wrist hurt.

'You call that pain? How weak are you, scum? No wonder you have to beat your servants – no-one would follow the likes of you.'

Alaster realised his face had distorted into an annoyed grimace of disbelief. This was getting out of hand! 'Look, you seem upset about something, and I'm sorry about that, but-'

'Your so-called chapter are a bunch of spineless mutants,' the Ultramarine scout growled. 'You are brutal, cowardly scum. You aren't even the dirt on my boots.'

Alaster became aware of a presence at his shoulder. A glance told him it was Nasty. Patreus appeared as well. Alaster found his comrades' presence reassuring.

Patreus said, 'I'd watch what you're saying, guest.'

'Oh really? And why would I do that?'

'Because that's what you are here – guests. And you should remember that before you start insulting the Ravens' honour.'

'We are here on a mission from the God-Emperor Himself. You should be grateful for our presence. And we can't insult your honour - you don't have any!'

The other scouts thought that was hilarious. Alaster felt his ears burning. His fists had balled themselves. The anger was building.

He heard Nasty speak. 'You are an arrogant little skaktard, aren't you? Think you're something just cos you're wearing blue? Well if you're so amazing, where's your armour? From those scars, I'd say you've been waiting a while!'

The scout's face darkened. The twitching intensified. It seemed Nasty had hit home. He had a point, Alaster noted – geneseed made reading ages difficult, but the scout did seem to have a lot of scars for someone who should be young. Briefly he wondered if that was the real cause here. The Ravens' aspirants became full battle-brothers faster than usual – could this scout just be jealous? Could his progression be taking longer than normal, resulting in feelings of frustrated inadequacy? Did he just want someone to take it out on?

If that was true then it was pathetic. Alaster felt contempt as well as anger.

'Whatever I may be, your supposed chapter are still mutant scum,' the scout ground out. His teeth were gritted and his nostrils flared.

Alaster rocked back, shocked by the temerity of the insult. Briefly he noted that the Guardsman had vanished.

Alaster heard himself speak. It was weird – his rage had reached a cold plateau. Instead of making him shake or blurring his mind in a red mist, everything was clear and focused. His words had a frosty clarity. He spoke almost calmly, clinical even. 'I think you are being unreasonable. I think your behaviour is unprofessional. I think you should retract your remarks and return to your meal.'

'And I reckon you're a stupid little coward,' the scout remarked, folding his arms across his chest. 'We should have purged you, all those years ago.'

It was one insult too far. Somewhere in Alaster's head, something snapped. The world vanished in a tide of rage. It was like his conscious mind just sat back to watch while his fury took over.

He watched as his fist swung out.

The scout countered. He played right into Alaster's aims. This was a manoeuvre he'd learned off of Patreus. He'd picked up a bit of the Way of the Leaf here and there – it had a certain elegant subtlety. Alaster was calmly noting this as the scout swung a fist toward him – leaving his chest open for Alaster to deliver a kick.

That was the key to the Way of the Leaf – use your opponent's strength against him. Make him fight himself, not you. The scout had leaned forward, bracing himself for his punch. Suddenly his balance was thrown off. He stumbled.

Alaster grabbed his flailing arm and pulled him forward. He leapt to one side as the scout went flying into the ground.

He heard a crunch and crash from beside him. Some crockery spun past. He saw Nasty leap onto the table. Alaster realised a brawl had broken out around the table. He caught a glimpse of Patreus nimbly fending off two Ultramarines.

The big scout hauled himself to his feet. With a bull roar, he charged at Alaster. Waiting until the last moment, Alaster sprang aside.

The big scout ran into the bench. He stumbled and fell over. With a loud crunch, the wood splintered and broke. Splinters sprayed out.

The scout jumped to his feet. He grabbed one of the remaining chunks of wood and hurled it.

Alaster tried to dodge. Too late. The wood slammed into his side. Pain exploded across his chest. He was hurled away. He hit the ground, breath knocked out.

Stars danced in front of his eyes. He felt dizzy and nauseous. There was a roaring in his ears. Alaster shook his head, blinking. The roaring faded. The nausea subsided. Alaster groggily pulled himself to his feet.

The table had been broken clean in half. Nasty was stood on top of an unconscious Ultramarine. He threw a plate at another one, grinning like a maniac. There was a murderous light in his eyes. Alaster knew how he felt.

Alaster look for the big scout. There he was, by the wreck of the table. Their eyes met. Alaster readied himself to charge. Time to put this idiot down-

'What the SKAKKING HELL is going on here?'

The roar was deafening. Alaster jerked in recognition – Kodos!

The silence in the room was absolute. No cutlery clanging, no drinks being slurped – just many of eyes, staring.

Alaster turned. Kodos and the sergeants had reappeared during the brawl. It must be just now – one of the Ultramarines was still stood in the tent's entrance.

Kodos's metallic eye glittered. He looked furious. Alaster realised he had never seen the sergeant so angry. And that anger was directed his way. Alaster felt his heart sink. He had a bad feeling all of a sudden.

'Damn,' he heard Nasty say.

One of the Ultramarines moved forward. 'Scout Metelleus – report.'

'The Raven aspirants attacked us, Sergeant,' the big scout said, snapping to attention.

Kodos's eyes bored into Alaster's face. 'Is this true?'

'They insulted the Chapter's honour, Sergeant.'

'Did. You. Hit. First?' Kodos spoke every word in its turn, cold with rage.

Alaster felt small and all of a sudden, frightened. He felt moisture in his eyes. No – no! He struggled with himself for control.

A shadow appeared next to him. What was this? He turned – and saw Sarok!

Sarok's face was composed in an expression of regret, like a man enjoined to undertake an unpleasant duty. But something about his posture suggested hidden glee. Alaster had an instant premonition of what he was about to do. Could anyone be that petty? Could anyone really be like this?

Apparently, yes they could.

Sarok met Kodos's eyes. 'Sergeant Kodos – with respect, they did. I saw them. Cadet Karo and Scout Metelleus exchanged some words. Then Karo punched Metelleus. Cadets Patreus and Shepherd followed suit.'

Kodos looked at Alaster and lifted an eyebrow. 'Well? Is that how it happened, Cadet?'

Alaster had an urge to lie. He had another urge to explain, to expand further. He realised it wouldn't do him any good. The only workable option was the simple truth.

'Yes, Sergeant.'

The rage vanished from Kodos's eyes. It was replaced by something so much worse. Alaster felt his heart quail.

Kodos looked disappointed.

'I specifically ordered you all to behave yourselves,' the sergeant said. He sounded old, the full weight of his years leaking into his voice. 'We were gone all of five minutes, and what do I find?'

He turned to the Ultramarine next to him. 'Sergeant Cato, I offer my fullest apologies for the conduct of my aspirants. We are deeply shamed by this incident. Please be assured that this scene will not be repeated.'

The Ultramarine nodded, very slightly.

Kodos turned back to his three errant charged. 'Cadets Karo, Shepherd and Patreus, I am hereby relieving you of duty until judgement is rendered on this incident. You will accompany me.'

He turned and began to walk away. Woodenly, Alaster moved to follow. He glanced round. Sarok was stood there. He caught Alaster's eye and smirked triumphantly. Feeling sick, Alaster looked away.

Behind him, he heard Nasty mutter, 'Now we're in deep skak.'

How true that seemed!


	14. Chapter 14 Leave Taking

Kodos stood in front of Captain Lakon. They were in the Sergeants' Mess room of the outpost. The table and chairs were shoved up against the opposite wall. Both Lakon and Kodos looked angry and frustrated.

'Well isn't this just a mess!' Lakon growled.

'Yes my Lord.' Kodos resolutely stared at the wall. His face was expressionless but there were tight lines around his mouth.

There was a slate sat on the tabletop. Lakon reached over and tapped it wit a finger. 'I've had to write a full, formal letter of apology. It's there, every last word of it – ready to be astropathed out and copied to the Inquisition. I've never had to do that before – what a galling experience!'

'With respect, my lord, they were defending the Chapter's honour.'

Lakon sighed. 'Yes, I know that, Sergeant. But striking first? Ignoring lawful orders? In front of a room-full of witnesses?'

Kodos said nothing but he ground his teeth.

'You like them, don't you?' Lakon said.

Kodos hesistated. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. 'Yes my lord. I do.'

'Look. I don't think they meant any harm – that's clear enough. And I don't like the role this Sarok played. And I think this Metelleus was out of line – but he was obviously looking for a fight.'

'My lord, I think the Ultramarines could have done more to keep an eye on their men.'

'I had a word with Cato when I got here.' When news of the affair reached him, Lakon had insisted on coming personally to the outpost. A Rhino had deposited him and his honour guard that morning. 'He was surprisingly frank. Apparently Metelleus has an attitude problem – it's why he's still a scout at thirty-eight. He pulls stunts like this every now and then. Cato's been trying to kick him out of it, but it's taking time. He wanted to come here as he thought exposing Metelleus to another chapter might be good for him.'

'Well that was a brilliant plan, wasn't it?' Bitter sarcasm leaked into Kodos's voice.

'That was uncalled for, Sergeant. It was a reasonable plan.'

Kodos's eyes dropped. His expressionless face relaxed into a scowl. 'Yes my lord, you're right. But I feel like the book's being thrown at my lads – through no fault of their own.'

Lakon paced backward and forward in the small space. His ceramite boots thudded on the wooden-board floor. 'Throwing the book at them? Are you joking? They disobeyed lawful orders. They attacked other Imperial soldiers - and that wasn't self-defence! Those are serious charges! In fact, under the Codex Astartes, they're capital crimes.'

'With respect, my lord, my lads have served well. They stood against the Dark Eldar – they made a difference there. They stepped up to the plate at the spaceport – they didn't try to run and they didn't whinge about it. They've done all the tasks they've been given, as best they were able. This is a one-off, not a trend.'

'And that's why they're not on trial for their lives.' Lakon stopped his pacing and pounded the wall again. Dust motes flaked off from it and drifted down. 'Damn it, Kodos, can't you see that? I agree with you – they were our best chances this year! I don't want to toss them aside either! I mean, for the Emperor's sake – how in the fields of Terra will we meet our targets now? I don't want them put aside either, but what else the skak are we going to do? Think about it, man. If they go off the edge this easily, what'll happen when they've got bolters? We're the Ravens, not the Flesh Tearers - we don't run off on mindless rampages! Thank the Emperor it was just fists this time.'

He paused, breathing deeply. More calmly, the captain continued, 'No, making Chapter serfs out of them is the best answer. We get some useful work out of them and they don't hang. You're right, their previous service was good. I can use that to swing the status-change. The fight with the Dark Eldar counts as a mitigating circumstance. I can justify not putting them on trial – the Raven Lord won't overrule me. This is a bad business and the quicker it's resolved, the better.'

'Some would call this sweeping it under the carpet, my lord.'

'Would you rather see them on trial? Given the likely verdict?'

Kodos's jaw was tight. 'No, my lord.'

'There you go, then.'

'My lord, it's not their failure – it's mine. This wouldn't have happened if I'd done my job properly. I – I wish to resign from training duty.'

Lakon sighed again. 'Kodos – get a grip. You've done your job, that I don't doubt. This is a bad incident – but that's all it is. An incident. You still have the remaining aspirants. They still need training.'

'I've failed the Chapter. I should be punished.'

'Then consider that your sentence. Training is a duty, not a pleasure – I know, I've done it too, remember? I'll never forget the first aspirant who died on me – his face'll be with me till it's my time. Tell you the truth, it shook me hard when it happened. But that didn't mean I gave up. I had a duty to the others. I didn't have a right to indulge my own emotional weaknesses to their cost.

'You're angry, you're frustrated and you're wondering what went wrong here. I understand – really, I do. But you need to get it together and move on. The other aspirants are depending on you – more then ever, now.'

Kodos said nothing but looked out of the window. His jaw was set and his face carefully-expressionless, but something about his eyes suggested quiet frustration.

***

It was an overcast Hexday morning in Creekside. Grey cloud veiled the sun. There had been two bouts of rain already. The city's pavements were dark with moisture and the gutters were still had puddles in them. Even in between the trees around his church, Father Inyre's shoes squelched in the mud as he walked along the building's perimeter.

In one hand he held the basket, full of the day's offering of food. In his other hand, he held his treasured copy of the second volume of the Imperial catechism. It was a genuine antique, given to him by a grateful parishioner after attending her mother on her deathbed. There was no way Inyre could ever have afforded it on his priest's allowance. Supposedly it had been carried into battle by Saint Timony himself, on the great day when he slew six Chaos Marines, some seven centuries previously. Just to hold something so hallowed was an honour in of itself.

As he walked, Inyre ignored the birdsong from the trees. He also ignored the distant rumbles of engines and squeals of brakes from the road – the rain had brought out the traffic. Blocking out the cars was an effort but Inyre focused doggedly. Under his breath he was muttering the sacred formulas from the holy book in his hand. They helped focus his mind, calm him down. He needed that today. He didn't like the rain – it reminded him of his years in the Guard, in particular the campaign on Jenneko. The constant rain, falling through the leaves… Cold, sore, tired booted feet squelching in the omnipresent mud… The pervasive smell of rot and decay… The flash of blades… The screaming…

Oh god, the screaming…

He stopped, breathing hard, fighting off the incipient flashback. He forced himself to concentrate on his surroundings. Silly old man! This was Delta, not some heresy-tainted hellhole! Your eyes couldn't even see Jenneko's sun from this planet, something that eased Inyre's mind a little.

Inyre's heart rate dropped. His hands loosened on the book and the basket. His chest slowed its terrified rise-and-fall. He nodded to himself, looking much calmer. Strange that it could still affect him so much, after all these years. He looked at the book he was holding. If nothing else, he supposed, the campaign had done one good thing for him. He'd been shown the truth, in a way he couldn't avoid. If he hadn't been there, he would never have converted to Originism, and his soul would still be lost.

Inyre looked up at a small patch of sky, visible overhead amongst the leaves. It looked like the clouds were darkening again. He glanced back at the basket. Best to get on with this, then! The sooner he could get back inside, out of this foul weather, the better.

He walked on, alongside the wall of the church. He could see the sunken stairs up ahead, and the door at the bottom. He blinked in surprise – it was ajar! Every time before, when he'd come here he had found it resolutely closed. He supposed that creep Tobias must be visiting – visiting whatever he kept down there.

Inyre's lip curled in distaste. He didn't like Tobias. The man thought he was faithful but Inyre could see the truth. The church was just a means to power for the man. There were too many like him in the Hierarchy. What Janessa saw in him, Inyre didn't know. He only tolerated Tobias and his oily behaviour because of her – Janessa was someone Inyre had great respect for. She was truly faithful, as well as hard-working and capable.

Oh well – all he had to do was deposit the food basket and walk away.

Although Inyre had never openly questioned his instructions, he had felt less and less comfortable with them as time went on. At first, he'd supposed Tobias's little scheme would soon end. But the months had dragged on. Tobias kept up his visits to the crypt. And stuff had starting happening up here, amongst Inyre's congregation. At first he'd thought it was just coincidence – but too many new things, too many odd things, kept happening. Like the Kelso twins – the happiest, healthiest young girls in the world. Their parents, recent converts to Originism, had been very proud of their beautiful daughters. Then the two girls got sick. Their parents had money but nothing the medicae did helped. It dragged on for two months before they finally died. Their mother's faith broke afterwards – she'd stormed out of the church one Septday, swearing and shouting, and never came back. Her husband had followed shortly.

Then there was the Coleman business. Jorry Coleman, calm, studious and hard-working, had suddenly lost it at school one day. He'd flipped into a berserk rage and had killed six other kids before an Arbites marksman brought him down. Seeing one of his own parishioners on the evening news had shaken Inyre badly. There'd been other stuff as well, minor events but still odd and out of keeping.

And then there was this damned basket.

Just one basket, every day. No more, no less. Inyre would bring it out in the morning and in the evening, he would return and collect its empty form. Something about it creeped him out. He had no idea who ate from it, or why they were stashed under his church. But he did know, in his gut, that the weird stuff was somehow linked. He looked around and shivered. Was it just him or did it seem darker here, under the trees? Some days he almost felt as if a mantle of shadow had silently draped itself over the church. He'd had the stained glass cleaned and the bulbs changed, but the interior didn't seem as bright as it had been before.

No – things weren't right here. Inyre feared that he was going to have to make a difficult choice at some point soon. It gave him a religious dilemma. The church was steadfast in its absolute opposition to evil, in all its many forms. To consort with any evil was always a sin. But inaction in the face of wrongness was also a sin. Inyre knew there was little he could do on his own – but if he just phoned the authorities, maybe…

He tried to put the half-formed thought aside. No – he couldn't do that! There could be no such thing as a lesser evil, by definition. The church taught that sin was a fundamentally unitary thing - carving it up into greater and lesser sins was the first step on the road to damnation.

Still…

He looked at the sunken stairs, now only yards away. He shuddered. He walked up to them and gently lowered the basket down, onto the top step. He looked at the door, down below. It was open, revealing a black void beyond.

Something caught his eye, nearby. Inyre stared at the mud just beyond the lintel. There were boot-prints in it! A single trail, leading away from the stairs. He looked at the steps. There was no mud on them – whoever had made them had not come back yet.

He wondered if Tobias was indeed visiting. But if he was, why had he left the door open? Inyre felt confusion.

In the distance, a car horn blared. Inyre started. He clutched at his chest as his racing heart slowed at the false alarm. The hand on the catechism gripped it tightly.

His eyes drifted back to the boot-prints. The priest stared. They couldn't be Tobias's. Experimentally, he lined up one of his feet next to them. No – they were too large. Tobias was tall, but his feet would rattle in shoes that big.

Father Inyre stared at the steps. Curiosity warred with fear on his face. He gulped, Adam's apple moving sharply up and down. His face set in a determined light. The priest stepped onto the op of the stairs. Once he'd taken that first step, he speeded up. The priest ran down the stairs. He passed over the lintel and in through the door. His body vanished into the shadows beyond.

Some time passed outside. A few drops of rain fell as the clouds thickened overhead. Some car horns blared angrily at each other as two drivers disputed right of way on the nearby road. A pedestrian walked past on the pavement beyond the church grounds, the clack-clacking of their heels just audible here behind the trees.

A few minutes later, a new sound was heard. Heels, flapping on flagstones. The sound grew louder. There was movement in the sunken doorway.

Father Inyre ran into the light. His body was shaking. His hands were white on the catechism, clutching the book before him like a shield. His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated. Unnoticed tears ran down his face.

Sobbing and shaking, he stumbled up the stairs. At the top, he turned and sprinted away through the mud and puddles. The ground squelched below his feet. He vanished off toward the street. Father Inyre ran from his church without even a backward glance – he would never return.

Some time later, heavy rain broke out. It washed away his footprints and any lingering scent. A small flood even leaked into the crypt's vestibule, through the open door. The waters removed any traces even from that space.

When he made his return from whatever mysterious errand he was on, there would be nothing to alert Phelonas to the priest's visit.


	15. Chapter 15 Shadow of the Devourer

'Put that down. No – over there!'

Groaning with effort, Alaster put the box down atop the pile. He'd been shifting stuff all morning. The last fortnight was one long blur of physical effort.

Administrator Taros looked at the mound of boxes. He made a note on a slate he was carrying. 'Okay – that'll do. Time for lunch.' Without further word, the man walked out of the store room.

Alaster wiped the sweat off his face. He brushed his hair back out of his eyes. Leaning backwards, he rubbed at his spine. He stretched the tired kinks out of his arms. Feeling a little better, he took a deep breath.

Near his foot, a square of sunlight fell on the storeroom's floor. Outside it was a cloudless day, bright and sunny. Alaster gazed out the window, over the Hydra Delta. It was weird to still be here, particularly after the last couple of weeks. He still felt numb, dazed by their events.

After the fight at the feast, the three aspirants had been locked in an improvised cell. The next morning, they'd found themselves summoned before a disciplinary hearing – chaired by none other than Lakon himself. There had been no friendliness in the room, just cold stares and a sense of disappointment. The three had found themselves summarily dismissed from their training course.

Alaster was still reeling from that declaration. It seemed such an abrupt end after all they'd been through. There had been a further surprise, though. They'd been told to report to Taros, to begin their 'reorientation' as Chapter serfs. Alaster had opened his mouth to protest; one look at Kodos had silenced the complaint.

Lakon had finished off by reminding them that disobedience was a capital offence. They had only escaped hanging, he said, because of their service at the gate.

Silent and shaky, the three ex-aspirants had left the room. On the way out, they had to return their aspirants' uniforms. Alaster had never thought he'd miss the rough fabric smock or the itchy trousers but handing them back had been hard. He'd felt like a failure. Worst of all was handing the gear back to Kodos. The sergeant hadn't even been sarcastic to them, just tonelessly polite.

They weren't even worth enough to be rude to.

Alaster's stomach growled. Time to stop brooding. An odour of food wafted in. Mouth watering, Alaster set off.

Moments later he joined Nasty and Patreus outside. They were sat on the grass alongside the outpost. Now that it was nearly complete, the improvised camp outside was gone. The three had helped roll up the tents four days ago.

'How was your morning?' Patreus asked politely. He handed over a packed lunch.

Alaster ripped open the paper and dug the sandwiches out. 'More shifting boxes for Taros. Same as yesterday. Yours?'

'Yeah, same as yesterday too. I was helping the priest dedicate the shrine. He'd found out I'd helped with that stuff before.'

Alaster spoke to Nasty. 'How about you?'

Nasty shrugged. He picked up a pebble and threw it away. It spun off into the distance. 'Heavy lifting, like you. Nothing useful.' He scratched at his Chapter serf's robes. They were in the Storm Ravens blue-black but didn't bear the raven insignia. He sighed. 'It was boring. This sucks.'

Alaster munched on his sandwiches. Swallowing, he spoke. 'I chatted with Taros a bit today.'

'With Taros?' Patreus blinked. 'He seems so distant.'

'He's all right really, I guess. Just takes getting used to. Anyway, I asked about things back on Delta. Apparently when you're not deployed, this isn't so bad a living.'

'Really?' Nasty tugged at the belt of his robe. 'You could've fooled me.'

'Yeah, really. Apparently the serfs all get proper apartments at the bases. Not huge, granted, but good quality. The way he described it, they sound better then the place my parents had – have, I mean.'

'Yeah but they must cost the Earth,' Nasty said.

'No – it's all subsidised. We don't technically get paid, so we don't technically have to rent either. The way he said it, you should look on that is as eight hundred crowns a month straight away.'

'That's not a good salary.'

'No, but when you add in food and all the bills we won't be paying - electric, heating, that sort of thing – then it heads for a thousand a month, easily. And there's a personal allowance. It's not much but you can buy yourself a few bits and pieces.'

'I thought serfs weren't paid.'

'We're not. It's not strictly pay, more of a gratuity, I suppose. Space Marines don't get that, so I guess we're ahead of them.'

'And we don't get shot at,' Patreus added. 'Or at least, we're not expected to.' He sounded almost mournful.

Alaster followed Nasty's example with a pebble of his own. It dwindled into the distance. Once more, he was reminded of how much fitter he was now then he'd been. 'We can't really complain. It's stable work and the pension's good. There's medical care. We get every seventh day off. We're well ahead of the Marines. And we're not expected to take their risks. Can't complain. I suppose.'

Patreus leaned back, lying down on the grass. 'It's a shame,' he said. 'I know I've got nothing to whinge about – but I feel like I'd like to.'

They were silent for a while. Somewhere above, a bird crowed as it flew past. The wind ruffled the grass. Then, to Alaster's surprise, Nasty spoke.

'You're right,' he said. 'That's how I feel.'

Patreus looked surprised. 'You? I thought you were only here to avoid the hangman.'

'I was, at first. That's why I didn't run off at the jungle camp, on Delta.'

'I thought you were still like that.'

'Did you?' Nasty shaded his eyes, scanning the horizon. 'Think about it. I could've bugged out on Gamma. There'd be a risk, but I reckon I could've got through the desert there if I'd really tried. And I don't think they'd have looked too close, once I was gone.'

'Really? Why'd you stay?'

Nasty waved his other hand in front of his face, trying to move the sluggish air. 'I – I guess I was sick of being nothing. It's been the story of my life.'

'I thought you were something big in the criminal world.'

'Did you? Wrong again, then. I was a small fry. Do you know how I got into that skak?'

Patreus shook his head. 'I've no idea.

Nasty spoke with brutal honesty. 'My mother had a sparky habit. She got onto it not long after I was born. I never knew my father – he bugged out soon after sticking a bun in her oven. I don't even know who the skakker was. So there I was, growing up on the wrong side of the river in Creekside. My mom's a druggie, there's no proper job in the family and no-one cares about a Level Three single mother. We were hungry so often. I tried to help. I did what I could.'

Alaster was listening. With a shiver, he realised this was the first time he'd ever heard Nasty talk about his family! With greater awe, he realised Nasty's eyes were watering. Even as he stared, the scarred ex-aspirant started crying. Nasty didn't seem to notice the tears.

'I pickpocketed a few people. No-one'd believe a cute little kid like me'd just emptied their pockets. It was easy – no effort, lots of cash. Some people don't even bother hiding their money. You just see them wandering around, with hundred-crown notes sticking out of their pockets. I felt like they were asking for it.

'I got good at it. It started cutting into the local gang's takings. They noticed me. I got a visitor one night – a visitor with a knife. He gave me a choice. Join the gang, get a share of the communal pot but take orders from the boss – or have my throat cut. I was a clever little skakker, back then. I saw the business opportunity. I went on board with the gang and it went from there. I couldn't get my mom clean, but at least I could keep her fed.'

He threw another stone. A gust of wind pushed it off-course. It landed in the grass nearby.

'Then things went pear-shaped. I got arrested. They held me for ages in the cells. No skakking habeas corpus. No lawyer, either.'

'I thought you did have one,' Alaster said.

'The court gave him to me. On the day of my trial. He wasn't any use, except suggesting me to the Ravens. By then it was too late. She's probably starved by now – or she's owing fingers to some loan-shark, to pay for all the sparkies.'

'Really? That bad?' Patreus asked in a quiet voice.

Nasty nodded. 'I hated myself, for abandoning her. Like Natalya – when she needed me, I couldn't help her, either. Seems like I always skak up, fail the ones I care about. I thought maybe – maybe if I make it as a Marine, maybe then it'll have been worth it. But no – looks like I've failed you lot too. I just had to push it at the feast, didn't I? I just had to break the rules. I couldn't stop, couldn't hold off. The slightest excuse and I just had to go join in.' He drew up his knees and hung his head.

Alaster was staring, gobsmacked. Nasty had always seemed so, well, nasty. Not a caring bone in his body, always the first one with a cynical remark or a snarky comment. Seeing him like this, almost in despair, was shocking. Alaster felt his own depression pulled up short.

'No,' Alaster said. 'It wasn't your fault. You just followed. I was the one who started it.'

They were staring at him now. He felt a sudden new mood of honesty. He felt a need to speak.

He said, 'I'd been put in charge. I should've just gritted my teeth, ignored Metelleus. Just served the meal and walked off. But I'd got arrogant, hadn't I? All that talk about 'my' Chapter and 'our' Chapter – like I own it! I had it coming, frankly. I was up myself. All that stuff before, the fight at the gate and the spaceport – it all went to my head. I learnt the wrong lesson. I should've been serving because it was the right thing to do – but no, I was serving to push myself up. And then I appointed myself the Chapter's defender – like they need defending by a skakking aspirant! Five thousand years of history speaks for itself. No-one who really matters'll care what some idiot scout thinks.

'I was wound up from Sarok, earlier, and I let that get the better of me. I wanted to work my frustration off – I should have just called him out, earlier. Five minutes outside and we'd be sorted, one way or another. But no, I got stupid and twitchy. And the result? Disaster.' He waved his arms in the air expansively, dropping them to his side after he was done.

Patreus spoke. 'It was my fault too. I didn't realise it but I'd got arrogant too. You're right about service – I'd forgot that and I have no excuse. I guess it serves me right for raving on about the monastery. They fell victim to their pride and turns out I'm no better. I of all people should understand humility!

'The things Metelleus said – they offended my faith. And that was the problem. I was taking out my own weak faith on others, when I should've been looking at my own beliefs. My faith was weak because it was wrong – I was faithful that I'd be a great warrior. I should've been faithful that the Emperor was sending me where he needed me – wherever that might be. The monastery's sin was gluttony – mine was pride.

'At the fight. I should have intervened. I should've dragged you both away, before it started. I didn't. Then I made it worse – by joining in! That was my failure.'

Nasty barked with laughter. 'Well isn't this just a picture! We're all to blame! So where do we go from here?'

'Well,' sighed Alaster, 'I suppose we've skakked up once, and monumentally too. But we don't have to do it again.'

'I don't resent them,' Patreus said suddenly. 'The Marines, I mean. I thought – I wondered if I might, if I failed. But I don't.'

'Me neither,' Alaster mused. 'I guess we have an idea what they go through. I mean, not much more then that. Just an idea – we don't really understand. But maybe we're better-placed to then almost anyone else. It's hard to really be angry at someone else when you know you have it easy by comparison.'

'Yeah, the nerd-boy's right,' Nasty agreed.

'Well,' Patreus said, 'maybe in a way this has even been good for us.'

Nasty snorted.

'No, I think it has,' Patreus replied. 'It's knocked the skak out of us. Alaster's right. We've mucked up once but we don't have to again.'

'Hey,' Alaster said, 'what was that?'

He pointed. There was a bolide, streaking across the daylight sky. Its glow was a sharp white. The meteor brightened rapidly as it arced overhead. Suddenly a couple more streaks shot up from below the horizon. They converged on the meteor – there was a flash of light. It was replaced by a silent explosion, far above their heads.

'There's more,' Patreus said. He was right. From up near the zenith, more meteors appeared.

'It's the Nids,' Alaster breathed in realisation. 'They're here!' As if to confirm it, more missile-streaks rose from the distant batteries.

Behind them, the outpost's alert klaxon wailed into deafening life.

Alaster leapt to his feet, half-eaten lunch forgotten. 'We need to get back to our posts!'

Patreus stood. After a moment's hesitation, Nasty joined them. They sprinted back to the outpost. As they arrived the alert klaxon was silenced. Moments later, Taros met them at the door.

'What's the situation?' Alaster asked.

Taros pointed to the stairs at the end of the corridor.'Get up to the information centre. I need to make a few calls. I'll speak to you in a minute.'

Feeling mystified, Alaster nonetheless followed his orders. He'd never actually been inside the information centre before – it had been designated 'restricted'. Still, Taros was in charge and orders were orders. Taros was in charge here. Patreus and Nasty followed him up the prefabricated stairs.

The information centre was a grand name for a more-or-less circular room. It was the control centre for the outpost. It was located at the top of the central turret. It was a roughly pentagonal room, each wall of the pentagon hosting a port for a heavy bolter, each able to sweep out a seventy-two degree angle. On the room's armoured roof was a dual plasma cannon, intended for vehicles or aerial attacks. The plasma cannon was controlled from a central cogitator, positioned in the middle of the room at the centre of a circular desk. The desk was ringed with electronics and screens. A couple of chairs sat on wheeled castors. Alaster tugged the back of one of them. The castors squeaked – he winced at the sharp noise. Clearly they were in need of an oiling!

He looked up from the desk. Fat wads of cables ran up into the ceiling. Two wide ducts ran straight down from the plasma cannon's base. They passed through the floor of the room, linking it to the plasma reactor on the ground floor. Little talismans to the Machine Spirits were tied to the equipment here and there, small offerings of cogs and wheels and mathematical symbols carved in gold. A couple of incense sticks added a pungent smell to the room. Alaster's nose wrinkled in dislike. He considered putting them out – he couldn't really see how that could possibly affect the machinery. His fingers hesitated near one of the sticks, then withdrew. He decided not to take the risk. Candidly, he admitted to himself that he didn't know enough about machine spirits to really make that judgement. The incense sticks weren't doing them any harm – best leave them be.

In addition to the heavy bolter emplacements and the narrow rectangles of sunlight they admitted into the cramped space, the walls of room were festooned with screens and consoles. On one empty space the Chapter's insignia had been painted. Below it a shelf had been converted into a makeshift shrine to the Emperor, with votive candles and a polished brass eagle propped up against the wall.

For a moment Alaster stared out of the gun-port next to it. Bright sunlight dazzled him. He blinked as his eyes adjusted back to the uneven lighting in the room. The daylight leaking through the bolter-ports was a sharp contrast to the red glow of the panels suspended from the ceiling. He understood they were that colour to protect night vision – apparently blue light was bad for it. Why that might be was just one more mystery from the dark art of science. Like the incense sticks, he decided not to worry about it – just one more thing he didn't understand. Since leaving the school, the world had filled with unfamiliarity.

'This place is spooky,' Nasty said. 'I don't like it up here.'

'Don't speak too loud – the machine spirits might hear you.' Patreus shuddered and made the sign of the eagle.

'I wonder what Taros is doing?' Nasty said.

Patreus started to offer some hypothesis but Alaster wasn't listening. He went to the nearest bolter port and looked out, leaning past the barrel of the big gun. The view was good from up here, he had to admit. You could see for miles. If the Nids approached, they'd be seen.

He looked down, at the protruding parts of the outpost. Having seen it half-built, it was odd seeing it finished. That was why he and the others were still here – supposedly they were helping out putting the last touches in place. Alaster privately didn't think he'd been much use.

Down below there was a flat, armour-plate roof extending some way out from the outpost. It topped off a rectangular structure underneath. It was the newly-added vehicle bay for the base. It wasn't very big – just enough for a Rhino and maybe three bikes. Alaster felt it was a bit of an after-thought in some ways.

He noticed something moving, toward the island's shore. A Rhino was crawling up out of the water. The first time he'd seen them do that, it had been weird. He'd got used to it now – Alaster supposed amphibious vehicles made sense. If it could be pressurised for use on airless worlds, then driving along the riverbed shouldn't be a problem.

The Rhino began to make its way across the island. Alaster wondered who was coming.

He heard feet clanging on the stairs. Moments later, Taros came in through the door. Alaster and the others snapped to attention. Taros waved their salutes off.

'I've been on the line to Command,' he said without preamble. 'The streaks are inbound Nids – the Emperor knows how they've managed it, but they've crept up on us. No-one saw the ships until they passed synchronous orbit. Hardly any warning at all! Lucky for us, you can't hide re-entry, so the missile batteries are firing. The main drift of spore-pods is coming down north of here, but we're on max alert until they're confirmed destroyed.

'You see that Rhino outside? That's bringing extra help. You may need a hand manning some of the guns, if it comes to that.'

'Is that likely?' Nasty asked.

Taros shrugged. 'Probably not – but who knows? We'll call you when the all-clear arrives. Until then, be on your guard.'

'Who are the extra hands?' Alaster asked.

'The Sixth Company aspirants,' Taros said. 'I gather you've met them.'

Alaster felt his face fall. By the Emperor – did it have to be them? Of all the troops running around on Riothria Minoris, it had to be them! 'Uh, yes, we have.' He tried not to sound too cynical. They'd have that skakker Sarok with them, wouldn't they? Of course they would. And he'd be crowing. Alaster could just picture the smug little rat's face.

There was a twitch at the edge of Taros's face. In a neutral voice, he said, 'You're Chapter serfs now. Aspirants rank below you. Remember that - they're the bottom of the pile, not you. They're the ones who still have things to prove. Don't take any crap from them. If any of them misbehave, punish them – within reason, the Chapter will support you. If one of them gives you some lip, make sure he pays for it.

'Anyway, I've been called back to Command. I'll be taking the Rhino. We'll be back for you later, when the alert's over. Time for you to take your positions! Karo, I want you on the plasma cannon – it targets and fires itself, just keep an eye out for crashes.'

'Crashes?' Alaster felt nervous. He wasn't sure what Taros meant.

'When the cogitator locks up,' Taros explained. He pointed to one of the monitors. It was displaying a targeting camera feed from the roof-gun itself. 'If that image freezes or vanishes, hold down the power button – the big black one, next to it. Yes, that one! When the machine goes off completely, count to thirty and push it again. It should start up by itself.'

'And if it, uh, doesn't?'

'Then there'll be nothing you can do to fix it. If that happens, take one of the heavy bolters – and pray!'

Alaster stood by the console, looking nervously at the screen.

Taros gestured Patreus and Nasty to two of the heavy bolters, covering opposing sides of the tower. He walked to the door. With a brief 'Good luck!' he walked down the steps. Alaster watched him go nervously.

*

Taros was down in the vehicle bay. He'd just finished herding the last of the aspirants upstairs. He closed the door behind them. He was alone in the vehicle bay, apart from the blue-black bulk of the Rhino. The place smelt of fuel and bluish striplights glared down from above.

Taros looked at the Rhino. He glanced at his watch. It was time he reported in. He walked to the back of the Rhino. The ramp was still down. Taros looked in, frowning. Where was the driver? Taros looked at his watch again. He dithered for a moment. Then he stepped up onto the ramp and walked into the Rhino. It was a bit impertinent but he needed to report in. He walked past the long seat, averting his eyes from the helmet sat at the end of it. Taros's own failure had been four decades previously. He still dealt with it by trying not to think about it too much.

It had been a busy, useful life subsequently – and yes, he supposed, a good one overall. He didn't feel it had been wasted. It would be wrong to say he enjoyed his job, as such – a lot of it was boring. However, he felt the work was important and he took satisfaction in doing it to the best of his ability. And then there was Senaia. She had been the daughter of another Chapter serf. If things had been otherwise, Taros would never have met his wife. He had her holo in his pocket, her and the kids. They'd been married for thirty-five years, thirty-five happy years. He smiled, just thinking about her. That was right – thoughts of Senaia banished any lingering darkness.

He walked up to the driver's door. He raised his fist to knock on it. Then he stopped.

Taros stared. Now that was odd. He strained his ears and realised he could hear nothing. The engines weren't running. There was no sound from the crew compartment. Where were the marines who should be driving it? Given that one of their helmets was sat over there-

Taros looked again. His eyes homed in on the helmet. There, around the base – there was a discolouration. Breating shallow and fast, Taros walked over. He trod as quietly as he could. Hand shaking, he reached out. He picked up the helmet, turning it over.

There was a bloodstain on the rim. Taros swallowed. It was still damp – recent, but hours old, not minutes or seconds. The colour was already darkening. He stared at it. This had been sat there, next to the aspirants? And they'd apparently not noticed? They hadn't seemed out of sorts or distressed.

But then, would aspirants dare to touch something like this? Dimly, Taros remembered his own aspirant days. He remembered viewing marines with more fear than awe, particularly after the first few deaths. It had been why he failed, in the end. Certainly he knew he would never have dared touch a Space Marine's equipment, without clear permission. Maybe they just hadn't looked. The stain was darkening – it didn't stand out much against the blue-black. In the dim lighting inside the Rhino, it might have been missed.

Hand shaking, Taros put the helmet down. He managed not to drop it.

He looked at the door. He had a knife, on his belt. He reached for it.

The door hissed open. Taros found himself face to face with a man – not a Space Marine, an ordinary man. He was wearing the dress uniform of the Octalian 8th, Engineering Company. The jacket was drenched with dried blood but Taros couldn't see any injuries. The man's face was twisted into a zealous snarl.

'Who the skak are you-' Taros began.

He never finished. The man's hand held a pistol. With calm precision, he shot Taros in the chest. The bullet tore through his ribs, straight into the heart. Taros spasmed and fell to the ground. His world quickly dimmed and faded. His eyes went blank.

The man stood over the corpse. He smiled grimly. He picked up the helmet with his other hand. 'Yeah,' he said, 'I forgot to stash that before we set off. Silly me.' He tossed it negligently over his shoulder, into the Rhino's front section. It landed on the floor with a splash.

The floor was covered in blood.

Unable to resist another look at his accomplishment, the man glanced back into the room. A dead Space Marine was stashed just outside of the door. The man regarded the blood on the decking. 'Those abominations don't half bleed,' he remarked.

Killing the Space Marine had been the biggest stroke of luck in the man's life. Normally attacking from behind with a knife would be a waste of time. Power armour backpacks rose over the shoulders, removing any access to the spine or the important blood vessels of the neck. However, vehicle-crews didn't usually wear their backpacks, due to the limited space. Instead they plugged their suits into life-support circuits in their vehicles. Thus, when the man had tiptoed into the Rhino, he'd been confronted with an exposed back. The warrior simply hadn't been expecting attack, here at one of their own bases – busy with some task, he'd been distracted and had let his guard fall. It was only for a moment, but a moment was all that was needed.

The man had struck as fast and hard as he could. He had rammed the knife into the marine's exposed neck, just below the bottom of his helmet and just above the collar of his cuirass. It seemed all those hours of practise on dummies had paid off – the knife went straight in through the undersuit and into the warrior's vertebrae. The spinal column had been severed in one neat, clean cut.

Astartes warriors are inhumanly strong and inhumanly durable. However, even for them, there are limits. A severed spinal cord, broken above the junctions to the hearts, lungs and arms, is one such. The victim had been dead before he hit the ground, murdered in a cowardly, cold-blooded attack.

Hearing the aspirants coming, the man had hauled the body into the front. He'd shut the door behind him, locking it. Then he'd drove the Rhino off on the pre-ordered course.

He was on an adrenaline high, all but shaking with excitement. He was acting alone here – he'd already completed his orders before, at the feast, by provoking that stupid mutant scout. But when he'd seen the duty rosters at the joint Guard and Marine base, as the first reports of Nid activity came in – it had been too much of an opportunity to resist. He was thinking of the accolades he would get for his glorious action here. Yes, it entailed some risk – but if it removed those three, stubbornly still alive, it would be worth it.

He'd fought the Nids before, a couple of times. Minor actions, but he was familiar with their attack pattern. He supposed Command weren't – or they were just too busy tidying up the immediate problems. This drift was just testing the defences, looking for holes. They'd find the gap in the missile shield soon enough. They'd come here. And when they did – what better way to remove the three annoyances? Now, all he had to do was make sure they were isolated out here. Just a matter of cutting some comm-lines and it would all be ready.

The man picked up a toolkit from near the long seat. He put the gun down where it had been. He dug out a machete from a pannier on his belt. Holding it in one hand and the tool kit in the other, he walked out of the Rhino, smiling happily.


	16. Chapter 16 Enemy Within, Enemy Without

Alaster peered out of the port. 'Didn't he say he was going?'

'Who?' Nasty asked.

'Taros. He said he was going – it's been half an hour. Nothing's left the garage since then.'

'He hasn't come back up,' Patreus noted.

'Yeah, he's got better things to do than hang around with you skakkers.' The room's most unwelcome occupant sneered his way into the conversation.

Alaster looked at Sarok, with an expression that promised pain. 'Shut up and get back to your position.'

'Yes Sir!' sneered the aspirant. He did as he was told, at the last instant he could have got away with.

Feeling angry and humiliated – again – Alaster looked away. His knuckles were clenched and white at his sides. Sarok had become even more unpleasant now. He seemed full of himself, as if assisting the others' failure was something to be proud of. Nasty had been eyeing him, ever since he'd entered the room. He perked up whenever Sarok approached a gun-port. Alaster suspected there was a chance Sarok might just 'fall out' at some point.

Privately, Alaster was half-inclined to be looking the other way when it happened. He felt shamed by his instinct but it was still there.

The other Sixth Company aspirants were nervous, silent shadows, busy doing whatever Sarok told them. It angered Alaster that they always looked to Sarok for permission, moments after being given any orders. The only two that didn't – a pair called Haras and Kirrin – had been put on two of the remaining heavy bolters. Alaster wasn't sure about having Sarok's sycophants on guns.

'I'm going to go and have a look,' Alaster said. 'Maybe he needs help.' He walked toward the door.

To his surprise, Sarok followed him.

As their feet clanged on the metal spiral staircase, Alaster asked, 'What do you want?'

Sarok smirked. 'Someone needs to keep an eye on the failure.'

'One more like that and the failure you'll be eyeing is your skull.'

Sarok's smirk wobbled. Alaster's tone was flat, empty of sympathy. Sarok's scheming had helped cost him his chance to be a Raven – Alaster supposed that if punching Sarok out was a disciplinary offence, then so be it. A peculiar, violent calm settled over him. He smiled as he walked down the stairs.

Sarok still followed, but he didn't speak.

They reached the bottom and turned the corner. The door to the vehicle bay was open. Alaster stared. 'You idiots – you left the door open! That's against regs!'

Sarok looked at it. His face was confused. 'No we didn't,' he said. 'Taros closed it after us, when we went up the stairs.'

Alaster looked down. 'Oh – Cadet Sarok, do you have your pistol?'

'Yes – why?'

Alaster pointed. By his feet was a trail of bloody boot-prints. 'Because that doesn't look good.'

Sarok swallowed. His face had flipped from smirking triumph to fear. 'They weren't there earlier!'

'No, I suppose they weren't. Better see where they go, I guess.'

Sarok looked at the footprints. 'Taros?' he asked.

'Who else?' Alaster shrugged. 'Unless you know better, of course.' He began to walk. He followed the footprints down the corridor. He wondered what had happened. Taros must have been injured somehow.

Sarok followed him. He seemed to want to keep close. He hovered behind Alaster, clutching at his pistol. Alaster noted the aspirant wasn't holding it properly. Just how had this useless individual lasted so long? Alaster supposed that Sarok wouldn't make it much longer. Oh well – his loss.

The footprints led deep into the outpost. They found themselves in front of a door. It was marked with Adeptus Mechanicus sigils and warning signs.

'Great,' Alaster muttered, 'he's in the server room.' The thought of an injured man in there, bleeding all over the data cables, wasn't a good one.

He took the door handle and wrested it open. The space beyond was small, lit by a few bluish lamps and a couple of votive candles. It was packed with banks of cogitator equipment, relaying data back and forth to Command and the other outposts. A thick sheath of cables ran up through the ceiling, plugging in the weapons in the turret above them. Ominous little lights glinted on the banks of machinery.

Taros was stood in front of one of them, back turned. He had a swathe of cables in one hand. He had a machete in the other. Alaster realised the cables had just been cut. Even as he watched, the lights went out on one of the banks of electronics.

What the hell-?

Oblivious, Sarok pushed forward. 'My lord Taros,' he said, voice dripping with oily relief, 'I'm sorry to trouble you but-'

Taros whirled – only it wasn't Taros. Alaster caught a flash of metal. A blade! The man struck at Sarok.

Sarok screamed and leapt back. He waved his gun in front of his face.

Alaster cursed. The man's crazed eyes met his. Alaster started with recognition. 'I know you!' he said. It was the Guardsman who'd been talking to Metelleus!

'Die, scum!' The man leapt at him.

Rage exploded inside Alaster.

Alaster stepped back and to one side. As he did he turned and kicked. His foot carried the full momentum of his body.

The man's stomach met Alaster's boot. His breath exploded from him. The impact knocked both of them to the ground. The blade went flying.

Alaster rolled over. He was beside the man. The man was groggily shaking his head, trying to clear it. Alaster grabbed for the man's hair. He yanked a fistful of it. He slammed the head into the wall. The man gasped.

Alaster smacked his head into the ground.

The man's eyes closed. He was unconscious.

Alaster smacked his head into the ground once more, for good measure. The man's scalp was a mess of blood. Alaster felt his harsh breathing slow.

'Got you, you bastard,' Alaster breathed. He felt his anger ebbing.

Sarok was watching all this from the door, hovering uselessly.

'You!' Alaster barked at him. 'Go and check out the Rhino. This one needs taking upstairs.'

***

They had some of the story a few minutes later.

Alaster stood over the captive, now bound and still unconscious. He had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor in the information centre. A thin line of drool ran from his slack mouth. Alaster had his hands on his hips. He was staring at Sarok.

'So,' Alaster said, 'to recap. There's a dead Space Marine in the Rhino. The place stinks of blood. Okay, you might not've seen it, the door was shut. But the smell. You didn't, you know, wonder why that was?'

Sarok flushed, wincing under the assault. After the fight, his earlier bravado had vanished. 'They didn't smell anything.' He pointed at the other Sixers.

'Did you smell anything? I'm not asking them, I'm asking you. Since you've apparently appointed yourself leader.'

Sarok winced. 'No, I didn't smell anything.'

'You didn't wonder why the door was shut? Why no-one spoke to you?' Alaster knew he was ranting but he didn't care. 'You realise, don't you, that if you had, we might've known something was wrong. Taros might not dead. He might not be lying, chest blown open, inside the Rhino. Hell, if this fool here hadn't left his pistol in the Rhino, I'd probably be dead too. For that matter, so would you. Do you know that?'

Sarok flushed angrily. 'It's not my fault. They-'

'Don't blame your men for your failure again.' Just for an instant, Alaster imagined he knew how Kodos must have felt so many times, when chewing the aspirants out. He felt a flash of regret. He wondered where Kodos was now. 'If you do, I'll make you clean out the Rhino. We're not taking any more of your shit now. Do you understand me?'

Sarok said nothing. He just folded his arms and glared petulantly.

Rolling his eyes, Alaster turned back to Nasty. Nasty was stood by the plasma cannon console. He had just pushed the black button again.

'Anything?' Alaster asked.

Nasty shook his head. 'Dead.'

'Skak! Skak, skak, skakkity skak!' Alaster pounded a fist into the desk. He was fast running out of swear words. This situation was going south at a rate of knots. The plasma cannon had died after the intruder cut the cables. Apparently there'd been something important in there. No-one had any idea how to repair them. They'd tried jamming the cable ends together but all that had done was cause a big spark and a burning smell. It seemed the machine spirits were mortally offended – the damaged equipment showed no glimmer of life.

Patreus was on one of the other consoles. He had a vox handset pressed to his ear, the cable snaking off to the machinery in front of him. With a resigned look on his face, he put the handset down. 'I've restarted the machine,' he said, 'but it's still dead.'

'So we've lost our line to the outside world.' Alaster looked angrily at the man on the floor. 'When you wake up, I'm going to give you a bloody good hiding!' He shook his fist in impotent fury. What were the marines going to say about this? Alaster had a suspicion they weren't going to be pleased. He couldn't believe how badly this assignment was going – but what else could he do?

'All right,' Alaster heard himself say, 'there'll be a radio or something in the Rhino. Has anyone ever used a Rhino comm system?'

Silence greeted that comment.

'Has anyone ever _seen_ anyone use it?'

More silence.

'Does anyone care to take a guess? What about you, Sarok, since you think you're so great?'

More silence. Sarok glowered.

Alaster threw his hands in the air. 'Brilliant. So maybe we have a way to get help – but we don't because no-one knows how to use it. Just great!'

'Uh – I'm sorry to interrupt but I think you should see this!' It was one of the Sixers, Korrin or Karrin or whatever his name was.

Alaster tried to swallow back his irritation, succeeding a little. 'What is it?'

Kirrin – that was his name! – was pointing out of the gun-port. Alaster moved across the room and peered out.

The sky beyond was a mass of meteor-lines. Alaster watched as a few of them passed in front of the disk of Majoris. It was pretty, in an alien sort of way, but no different from earlier. He wondered what Kirrin was making a fuss of. 'It's just the pods,' he said. 'They've been shooting them down all afternoon. They'll get this lot too.'

'No – look!' Kirrin pointed insistently.

Alaster followed the finger. His eyes widened. He felt his pulse spike.

'Holy Throne,' he breathed.

The streaks were slower-moving and fainter. He could only see them, he realised, because they were nearby. There were clouds behind several of them! But that couldn't be – how could they have got this low?

'What is it?' he heard Patreus ask.

'The Nids – they're below the clouds!'

'They can't be! What about the missiles?'

Suddenly he had a flashback to Kodos. He remembered the sergeant's exact words: '_…apparently there's gaps in the missile coverage. That's why we're here, of course...'_ Oh skak.

'The gap,' he heard himself say. 'They've found the gap! They'll be landing any minute!'

'The plasma cannon's still down,' Nasty said.

'We've got the heavy bolters,' Alaster said. 'We'll do without.'

'Will we?'

'Yes. Have you got a better suggestion?'

'Not really, no.'

'Then get back to your bolter. Patreus, Kirrin, Haras, you too. I'll take the remaining one.' He got up and sprinted over. To his relief, Nasty took his place without argument. Patreus moved back to his gun.

Alaster set about checking the belt feed and the linkages. He took the two handles mounted on the side of the gun. He swung it from side to side, experimentally. It all moved cleanly and silently. Good – the bearings were oiled.

'What are you doing?' He became aware of a squeaky voice.

Alaster looked up. Sarok was stood near the door. The other Sixth Company aspirants had formed a frightened gaggle behind him. 'Oh – Sarok. Tell you what, why don't you try the cogitator for us? Just keep pushing the black button. You never know, it might work.'

Sarok shook his head. His arms were folded. His eyes were as resolute as they were fearful.

Alaster stared. 'That better not be a no, because-'

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

The tower shook. They all felt the rattle of the large structure. Down in the stairs, some loose item went clanging down the rungs. Moments later, a boom echoed from outside as the sound arrived, slower than the vibrations in the solid rock below.

'What was that?' Patreus asked.

Kirrin spoke. He pointed out of the gun-port again. 'One of the pods – I saw it land!' In the distance, smoke was rising from something. A lazy, oily black streak wound up into the sky. Already it cast a long shadow on the ground below.

There was another tower-rattling thump, this one closer. A moment later the boom followed it.

Sarok's eyes were wide. A vein was bulging on his forehead. His brow gleamed with cold sweat. He was breathing fast. 'We should go to the Rhino. We can't fight this. We're not marines!'

Alaster rolled his eyes. 'Sarok, we have our orders.'

'What do you know, you're just a failure!'

'I don't believe this,' Alaster growled. 'Get a grip, now is not-'

'I don't want to alarm anyone,' Nasty cut in, 'but I see movement, in the distance.'

Alaster twisted to peer out of his gun-port. Nasty was next to him, so it was easy enough. 'Terra's green fields,' he murmured, awed and shocked at the same time.

Smoke was rising from further out in the delta, on one of the islands. A spore-pod must have come down there, moments ago. The pod itself was lost behind the island's central hill. But coming over that hill, Alaster could see what looked like a wave of pinkish-white. No, not a wave – a tide!

'They're coming,' he said. 'We've all had heavy weapons training. We can handle these bolters. Sarok, if you feel like doing your duty, get your lot organised. Send them down to the storerooms, get the spare ammo up here – Sarok?'

The aspirant was looking at Alaster like he was mad. The Sixth Company aspirants were huddled around him like frightened children.

'Skak that,' Sarok said. 'There's a Rhino down there. We can't fight this! These failures can't lead us! Come on – we can get out of here!'

Sarok turned and ran. His feet clanged on the stairs. Other feet followed – except for Kirrin, Haras and two others, the rest of the Sixth Company aspirants broke and fled after Sarok. Alaster watched them go with nauseous shock. He turned to the remaining Sixers.

'Well?' he asked hoarsely. 'What about you? Are you going to run off too?'

The other two had red and brown hair respectively. The brown-haired one was taller. It was the red-haired one who spoke, however. He shook his head decisively. 'No. Me and Nisal will stay.'

The tall, brown-haired one looked at his companion, briefly. 'I'm with Kaylos here.'

Alaster blinked. 'You're called Kaylos?' His mind flashed back to the Librarian, back at the camp on Delta.

This one was smaller than the other Kaylos. The red-haired one – call him Little – nodded. 'Yes. Is that a problem?'

'Uh, no, not at all. There's just someone else we know with that name.'

'Is that good or bad?'

Alaster felt a sudden laugh bubble up. 'Not sure. On the plus he's a Raven, on the minus he shot three of us.'

Little stared. 'Shot?'

'Yeah,' Nasty put in, 'and I'll bet that's going to happen to Sarok and his deserters.'

'Sarok – oh skak!' Alaster looked out the window. The speed of the Nid advance was amazing. The tide was already swarming over the first island. It was hard to tell at this distance but the shoreline seemed to be causing some confusion. There was an impression of motion near the shore, like a horde of alien monsters milling aimlessly.

Movement caught his eye. Alaster looked up. Dark shapes were flapping back and forth on ugly wings, above the mass of aliens. Those shapes – memories of Fellack's tactical lectures came flooding back. He recognised them, from holos he'd been shown. 'Terra's green hills – Gargoyles!'

'Skak,' Kirrin said. 'They'll be here any minute.'

Alaster looked out of the window, at the garage below. 'Sarok's going for the Rhino,' he said. 'But can he drive it?'

'Probably not,' Nasty said smugly.

'But he can probably work out how to get the garage door open.'

'And the Nids'll snack on him – hang on – oh skak.' Nasty's pupils expanded as he digested the obvious implication.

'And then,' Patreus finished, 'they'll run upstairs and get us too!'

'And all of Sarok's lot will die,' Alaster added.

'Don't care about them,' Nasty shrugged.

'It's not their fault he's an idiot,' Alaster replied firmly. 'Kaylos, Nisal, go into the stairwell. There's a fire equipment cabinet. Get the rope from it. And the axe. Bring them back.'

They nodded and ran out.

'What are you going to do?' Patreus asked.

'No time to explain. Nasty, you're the strongest – come over here. Patreus, take his gun. We need this side fully covered.'

Nisal and Little – better not call him that to his face - returned, with the axe and the rope respectively. 'Thanks,' Alaster said, snagging the rope off of them. He took it and began tying and improvised harness around his torso. 'Kaylos, Nasty, I want both of you to take the rope. Tie the end of it around the central column.'

'What about the plasma cannon?' Nisal put in.

'I think that's a dead issue now. I need something secure to anchor the rope.'

Little and Nasty had got busy. Thank the Emperor someone was following orders! Alaster took the axe from Nisal. Nasty and Little were finishing up with the rope. 'Okay, you two, take the rope and get a good hold on it. Nisal, take that bolter over there! I need you to cover the outpost's far side, as best you can.'

Nasty and Little had the rope held between their hands.

'I'm going to abseil down the outside,' Alaster explained. 'I'm going to wreck the door mechanism, from the outside.' He brandished the axe. 'That way Sarok can't get everyone killed. When I'm done, I need you to steady it while I climb back.' He glimpsed the Tyranid swarm out of the window. 'Preferably before that lot get here!'

He slid the axe through his belt, making sure the blade was tucked over the leather. It wouldn't help if it fell out! With a look of regret, he put his pistol aside. It was too much extra weight – and without it, he thought he might climb faster.

'Why've you suddenly gone all suicidal?' Nasty asked. 'Why not chase them downstairs?'

'That isn't going to work,' Alaster replied as he stepped over to the window. He fed out some rope behind him. 'Do you think Sarok'll let me interfere? No – he'll get his gun and shoot. He thinks he'll die if he doesn't. And look at the door, over there. Do you think that's going to keep any Tyranids out? With those claws?' He lifted a leg over the window sill. He was sat half-in, half-out. 'I don't think so. This isn't suicide – this is the only way any of us get out alive.' He swung his other leg over. Leaning down, he gripped the window ledge.

Alaster swallowed. The ground was a long way down. He could see the outpost's shadow, lying across the grass.

He swung out. For a heart-wrenching moment, he was in the air. He gripped the rope. He felt it drop. His heart spasmed. He thought it would give-

It stopped. It jerked between his hands.

'Sorry! Small slip - won't let it go again!' Nasty shouted down to him.

Carefully, Alaster swung his feet up, bracing them against the wall. The rope was down from the window, forming a triangle with the wall and his legs.

Alaster's racing heart slowed. His arms ached, but things were back under control.

He looked back at the wall, concentrating on it. He focused on the ugly, grey prefabbed armour plating. He braced his feet against it. He could smell the grass below – Minorian pollen seemed potent for some reason. Momentarily distracted, Alaster was glad he didn't get hayfever.

He looked out toward the other island. Oh skak. The Gargoyles – he could see their shadows, on the water between here and there. And the mass of Nids near the shore – some of them were tentatively paddling out into the water.

'Great,' he muttered, 'the xeno scum can swim!'

Letting out some more rope, he lowered himself down a step further.

Carefully, methodically, Alaster lowered himself down the side of the outpost. He forced himself to go slowly. As he descended, he concentrated on his breathing. Keep it steady and even. Fear was the enemy here – uncontrolled fear led to panic. Hanging from a rope metres above the ground was not a good place for panic, even if the gravity was three percent lower than he was used to. A fall from this height would kill him just as surely as a similar one back on Delta.

He was halfway to the garage roof. His feet thumped into the armour plate again. By the Emperor, his arms were tired!

He risked a look back at the sea.

The Nids were closing. They'd covered a third of the distance already. Skak, the xenos were fast! A bizarre wish for insect repellent passed through Alaster's head. He shook it away – a pity but midge spray probably wouldn't work on Nids!

He looked up. The guns were still silent. Good. Patreus and the others weren't wasting ammo – no point shooting until the Nids were in range. He looked at the protruding, dead tube of the plasma cannon. Now if that had been working … he shook away the wishful thinking. You fight with what you have, he told himself.

He decided to work faster. Creak thump, creak thump were the sounds of his descent as he swung himself away from the wall and alternately swung back, lower each time. Creak thump, creak thump.

The Nids were at the halfway mark now.

Alaster's feet touched the roof. 'I'm down!' he shouted.

He pulled the axe from his belt. Nearby was an armoured duct, running to the front of the garage. An air vent was next to it. Through it Alaster could hear the frantic noises of Sarok and his entourage. Just as Alaster had thought, they'd gone for the Rhino. It sounded like they weren't having much luck getting it going. He grinned viciously, imagining their distress.

Alaster moved back to the duct. He hacked at it with the axe. He'd helped install it – the hydraulic cables for the garage door were in there. The armour-plating was thinner on the duct.

A crack appeared. He smashed the axe into it harder. His arms were shaking with effort. One more swing – come on!

The casing split. Shouting with triumph, Alaster hacked it apart. He kicked the remaining bits away from the garage. The fat, black pipe lay exposed.

The axe bit into it. Greyish hydraulic fluid sprayed out. Alaster hacked again and again. A flood of the stuff was spilling out. He hacked once more. The severed tube spasmed, the pressurised end slapping hard against the duct. It jerked like an overloaded garden hose.

Alaster heard a whine from the vent. He heard someone shouting and swearing. 'Why isn't it working?' He grinned in momentary satisfaction.

He looked back to the water. His grin faded. The Nids were closer now – too close, Alaster felt. Looping the axe through his belt he started gathering up rope, intending to climb back up the wall.

He walked up to the wall, holding the bundle of rope - and stopped, staring. On the way down he'd had the bundle looped over a shoulder, just letting it out as he need. But to climb up he'd need to reel it up – only that would need the hands he was holding the rope with.

Oh dear.

Alaster realised he had a problem. He looked at the bundle, a sinking feeling in his stomach. What was he going to do? With a dawning sense of horror, he realised he might not be able to get up again.

His arms started shaking. Tiredness weighted them down. Alaster looked over his shoulder. The Gargoyles were approaching the shore of their island. A V-shaped wave of other Nids were rippling out into the water behind them.

'Karo! Get your skakking arse back up here!' He heard Nasty shouting down to him. Looking up, Alaster saw he was leaning out of the gun-port.

'I can't – get back in!' Alaster shouted up. Horror and futility warred in his gut. He had no idea what to do. 'I can't climb _and_ reel.'

Nasty met his eyes, looking irritated and also aghast. 'Get it together!' he shouted. He ducked back inside.

Alaster stared after him. He whispered, 'Don't go!'

He was panting. His chest felt tight. He could hear his pulse, roaring in his ears. He felt dizzy. Vaguely, fuzzily, he realised he was panicking. He had no idea what to do. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide. He wanted to hit something. Stuck between drives, he was frozen-

The rope jerked.

Startled, Alaster almost leapt out of his skin. There was another tug on the rope, dragging him toward the wall. His heart leapt. They were pulling on it! The rope creaked, pulled taught. All Alaster had to do was hang onto the bundle around his shoulder. Maybe he was going to be okay!

Sudden joy filled him.

Another jerk of the rope. Hanging desperately onto the bundle, his feet left the plating below. Another jerk. He rose slightly.

Alaster helped as best he could, holding his feet against the wall. In places he could walk up parts of it. It was still slow going, though.

Suddenly two of the guns on the turret roared into life. Alaster started violently. A rain of bolts sprayed out into the sky, above his head.

He turned and looked – oh skak. The Gargoyles were almost here! He could see them now, horrible, chitinous monstrosities with ugly, leathery wings. They flapped ponderously but surely – the creatures had made remarkable time on them. They held forward weird, bony arms. Tubular things that could be some sort of gun grew forward from them.

One of the creatures turned its wedge-shaped head. It saw Alaster. It folded its wings and dived toward him.

Alaster grabbed at the rope with his other hand. His feet scrabbling against the wall, he kicked himself away. At the last possible moment, he swung out of the monster's reach. Frustrated, the foul creature flapped back from the wall-

Alaster's swing reached its zenith. He fell back, hitting the wall. Pain flared across his side. He gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. For a moment dizziness whirled in his head. Alaster shook it, frantically clearing it.

Just in time. The monster had flown outwards. Now it was curling its path back, swiping its mighty wings through the air. Its evil little eyes locked onto Alaster. It opened its mouth, revealing savage teeth and a long, dripping tongue.

It was closing fast. Alaster realised his jump gambit wouldn't work again. He had just one chance.

Gripping the bundle of rope firmly with one hand, he reached to his belt. He tugged the axe free, gripping it near the end of the haft. He watched the monster closely as it flapped toward him.

It raised its arms, bearing the weird bio-gun thing-

Alaster jerked the axe up, throwing it as hard as he could. It slid from his fingers. It spun through the air. He'd timed it just right – it slammed, blade-first, into the creature's left wing-joint.

Alien ichor spurted out. The monster's wing fell dead. It spun and plunged downwards. It released a weird, keening cry. Alaster realised it was the first noise he'd heard the foul xeno make.

It hit the garage roof with a crunch.

There was a bang. Its head exploded.

Startled, Alaster looked up. Nasty was leaning out of the window, with bolt pistol in hand! 'Got the skakker,' he said smugly.

He ducked back inside. The rope jerked again, faster this time.

Alaster was pulled up, over the window sill. He collapsed to the floor in a dazed heap. He was back in the information centre! He realised he was crying but he didn't care.

'Thank you, thank you so much! Thank you!' He heard himself babbling as Nasty hauled him to his feet.

'It's okay,' Nasty said. 'You fixed the garage, Kaylos pulled, I shot the xeno. Score one for the team, I suppose.'

Alaster wiped his face, managing to pull himself together. 'What – what's the situation?'

Patreus yelled, 'Six down, three to go!' More heavy bolter fire rumbled out.

'That's the first wave,' Kirrin put in. 'There's another one coming.'

'Skak – I better grab a gun!' Alaster dived over to the nearest available free heavy bolter. 'Nasty, get back to your gun. Kaylos, Nisal, there're ammo crates in a store on the floor below. By the stairs. We'll need them pretty soon – get them up here!'

Nisal and Kaylos didn't argue. They sprinted out of the room. Alaster heard their feet clanging on the stairs. Alaster took his own position at the remaining heavy bolter.

He got his hands onto the grips and swung the gun into position. A Nid flapped into view. He pushed the firing studs. He watched, delighted, as the xeno monster was torn apart by the river of bolts. 'Take that you skakkers!' he said under his breath.

He heard Haras and Patreus both cheer as their guns took out an alien each.

'That's wave one done!' Kirrin shouted.

There was clanging on the stairs. Stepping over the still-unconscious prisoner, Nisal and Little arrived with the first ammo crate. Workman-like, they put it down and immediately returned to the stairs to get the next.

'Here they come!' shouted Kirrin.

Alaster looked back outside. Indeed they did! Another, thicker wave of Gargoyles were flapping their way toward the tower. Several of them broke off to circle round. They were under attack from all sides.

Alaster lined up the targeting sights. He waited until a creature was firmly lined up. He pulled the triggers. The gun roared, kicking back on its mount. Moments later, the alien's body spasmed. Several plumes of ichor erupted from new holes. It spun and tumbled from the sky.

Alaster lined up the next one. The strange thing was, this felt good. He was puzzled by his own reaction for a second. Then he remembered the conversation he and the others had held earlier. He understood why he felt like this. Finally, he and the others were actually serving – not because they were seeking reward and not because it was for personal benefit, but just because it was the right thing to do. They were doing the Emperor's work, and they were doing it for the correct reasons. He thought of Sarok and his coterie downstairs. Alaster and his companions here where even fighting to protect the helpless! At the thought of Sarok helpless, Alaster had to smile.

The heavy bolter roared in his hands again.

More Gargoyles joined the fray. Precision fire quickly became impossible – too many targets. The outpost's defenders were reduced to raking the sky with their powerful guns. Alaster lost track of how many aliens he had shot. The ground below was littered with torn xeno bodies, their ichor staining the grass.

The information centre was filled with the echoing roar of heavy bolters. Alaster's ears throbbed from the assault. The air stank of coolant and gunfire. After a little while the aliens started trying to hit the building with bio-plasma. Fortunately, the structure was earthed, so the charge was dissipated harmlessly. Still, the air smelt of ozone after just a few shots.

Then, a weird green flash flared in the room.

There was a scream. Alaster heard it even over the gunfire. He turned, just as the smell of frying bacon wafted over to him. Haras staggered back from his bolter. In horror, Alaster saw that his face was half-gone. A bio-plasma shot had partly spilled in, through the gun port. Behind him, his heavy bolter's barrel glowed cherry-red. The end was dripping molten metal – fortunately it was falling out of the tower, not inside.

Haras's burns looked substantial. He staggered toward Alaster then fell over, screaming.

'NISAL! KAYLOS!' Alaster heard himself roar their names. 'GET THE MEDICAL KIT! NEXT TO THE AMMO STORE! SEE TO HARAS!'

With no further time to lose, he turned his attention back to the xenos. He heard Kaylos and Nisal run into the room, feet thudding on the prefabricated floor. He heard the thump as they deposited the first aid kit.

He'd done all he could. Haras was in the Emperor's hands now. Alaster went back to shooting. He heard Patreus and Kirrin, adjusting their firing pattern to try and compensate for the loss of a bolter.

After some time the airborne assault ended, whether through a change in enemy tactics or the exhaustion of winged creatures, Alaster did not know. They had to turn their fire to the ground. The horde of swimming monstrosities had reached the hillside now. Alaster saw that it consisted of a mass of Gaunts, just behind a wave of Rippers. The smaller aliens seemed like the front wave of a pinkish avalanche as they approached.

Heavy bolters tore into them, creating a killzone halfway up the hill. From behind his gun Alaster watched in disbelief. The xenos just kept throwing themselves under his bolts! He kept the firing studs held down, releasing them only to give the bolter a chance to cool down slightly. They were running the guns dangerously close to their limits. He could hear the coolant systems whining. The noise was getting louder. Alaster didn't think that was good. Silently he prayed to the Emperor to intercede with the machine spirit, so it wouldn't fail them now.

A moment later and Kaylos was at his side, feeding in a new ammo belt onto the end of the exhausted one. Alaster nodded his thanks and went back to his shooting.

He became aware of a sudden quietness. The other guns – they'd stopped! What was going on?

He turned. 'Come on! Keep firing!'

Nasty met his eyes. His forehead was flushed and sweaty. Damp curls of hair hung limply down.

'Alaster,' he heard Nasty say, 'there are no more. Stop. We've won!'

He pointed.

Alaster turned and looked. The landscape beyond was littered with the remains of Tyranids, hideous mangled carcasses in all sorts of shapes and sizes. The outpost and the crest of the hill rose from the carnage, a serene island in a sea of devastation.

Alaster became aware of a new sound. A whine of engines, a different tone to the frenzied noises of the gun cooling systems. He looked and saw shapes in the middle-distances. The shapes made his heart lift with joy.

Landspeeders – Storm Raven landspeeders!

***

'At ease, Sergeant.'

Lakon was stood over a rickety table inside a tent. One of the sides was rolled up, to double as a door. The others were bulging and sagging as the winds blew around and threw them. The improvised field base was dotted with other tents. Space Marines and Octalian Guardsmen were coming and going on various errands. There was a rumble of engines as a convoy of vehicles set off for the frontlines.

Ignoring all of the chaos, Sgt. Kodos stood on the other side of the table. He stood down from his alert stance as Lakon accepted his salute. 'You wanted to see me. My lord.'

'Yes, I did. Something you might like to hear about.' Lakon pointed at a holo-slate, sat on the table. It was weighting down a big map. One corner fluttered in the wind.

'What is it, my lord?'

'You remember those three – Karo, Patreus and Shepherd.'

One of Kodos's eyebrows twitched. 'Yes, my lord.' His voice was neutral.

'Have a look at the slate. It's a set of security cam recordings, from earlier today.'

Kodos picked up the slate. He pressed a key and started watching. As he did Lakon moved to weight down the map with a water bottle.

Some time later, Kodos put the slate down. A new expression was on his face – he looked reluctantly proud. 'Well,' he said, 'that made interesting viewing.'

'Yes, it did indeed. And isn't it ironic, don't you think, that the ones who acted like Marines are the ones who aren't on the list?'

'I take it Sarok didn't know he was on camera?'

'Apparently not. It seems Karo and his lot didn't realise they were being recorded, either.'

'And this prisoner they took?'

Lakon's mouth hardened. 'I think they deserve a commendation for their restraint. I'd have just shot the bastard. He cut the comm lines. Took out the plasma cannon, too. He very nearly got everyone there killed.'

'By the Throne! So who is he?'

'The ID card says one Joram Colnitz, Private, AB-2100-651-634, a Guardsman in the Octalian 8th. A right little monster. He killed Taros and also Brother Kollas.'

'No!'

'Yes. He got him from behind with a knife. Apparently Colnitz was also the one who was at the feast. Do you know what else we found, on a little digging?'

'Do tell.'

'Private Colnitz was a regular at St Teelek's in Creekside.'

Kodos exploded with a burst of swearing. 'So that business at the feast – that was an Originist plot as well?'

'Yes,' Lakon agreed. 'Another Originist saboteur. And now he tried to punch a hole in our perimeter.'

'These people are out of control!'

'They've also pushed us too far, now. Political scheming is bad enough, but sabotage and murdering Marines? I've spoken to the Raven Lord. He's seen the footage. First Minister Yelessa will get an astropathed ultimatum in the next hour or two. Either the Assembly does something … or we will. We're also going over the vetting of the Octalian Guard – if they've managed to get one of their agents out here, there may be others. Doesn't seem like we can take any chances.'

'So, has this Colnitz explained himself?' There was quiet rage in Kodos' voice.

'Sadly no. He's in a coma.'

'What?'

'It seems when Karo took him down, his punch did a bit more then planned. Colnitz bust a blood vessel in his brain. Instant stroke. The medicae say it's pretty bad, to judge from the scans. He's not going to wake up, they reckon.'

'A skakking vegetable.'

'Basically yes. If something like that happened on Delta, it'd be straight off to the servitor factory for the body. Anyway, I have our Tech-Priests look into it. They might be able to put together some sort of device, try and read something off his memory centres. You never know, it might work.'

'We could just kill him and eat the brain.'

'That's a last resort. Don't forget the omophagea issue we have.'

Kodos rolled his eyes. 'Of course, you're right. Even if we did, we probably wouldn't get much out of him, would we?'

Lakon gave out a gallows laugh. 'Yes, maybe that's why the Ultramarines were willing to part with our original geneseed, back in the day.'

'It would be just like them to slip us a duff batch, wouldn't it?'

Lakon frowned. 'Now there's an odd thought.'

'What?'

'I haven't heard anything the Fifth Company, you know, about the fight at the feast.'

'Were you expecting to, sir?'

'Yes. I was expecting a formal complaint from their commander. I mentioned the letter of apology I had to put together, didn't I?'

'Yeah, you did say something.'

'But I haven't heard anything.' Lakon drummed his fingers on the tabletop. 'Pass me the slate – I need to have a look on the tactical net.'

Kodos handed it over. Lakon keyed his way in. He looked at the displays as data uploaded itself to the slate. His frown deepened. 'Well. Now that does put an interesting spin on things, doesn't it?'

'What does, my lord?'

'Cato and that other scout sergeant – their squads both got into combat today. Sector nine.'

'Sector nine?' Kodos blinked. 'Wasn't that the most serious incursion?'

'Yes. There was even a Hive Tyrant taken down in that area.'

Kodos released another stream of curses.

Lakon nodded. 'That was my reaction. A dense cluster of spore-pods and some nasty critters. Not good. Anyway, Cato and co were in there.'

'Were?'

'Both squads are listed as wiped out.' Lakon tapped the pad.

'All dead?'

'It's wooded in that area. The reports say there were spore mines, lurking between the trees. Damned hard to spot and no-one had any idea they were there, till the first one went off on someone.'

'What a way to find out.'

'Yes. It seems that's what happened to the Ultramarines. Apparently the geneseed's been recovered – what was salvageable, anyway.'

Kodos shook his head slowly. 'Well, I didn't like Cato and I didn't like his men – loud-mouthed and ill-disciplined, they seemed. Still, I wouldn't wish that on anyone.'

'Yes. And you know what it means?'

'No.'

'Presumably they hadn't got round to reporting the incident to their captain. In fact, they can't have done. I would've heard about it by now. So the only witnesses to the fight are one coma patient and members of our Chapter.'

Kodos said nothing but he tilted his head. Outside, a truck rumbled past. Dust swirled around the vehicle's tires.

'Let's have a look at the map,' Lakon said, pushing the water bottle and the slate aside. 'Here's Snake Outpost.' He pointed to it. 'Here's our main base. And what's this? A waterway straight between the two.'

'The Nids – they can swim, can't they?' Kodos said.

'And the Gargoyles can fly,' Lakon agreed. 'Yes. If Snake had fallen, there'd be a line straight to our base.'

'They wouldn't have taken it.'

'No, not on a force like the one we saw.' Lakon tapped the slate. 'But it would have drained troops away from other places. We'd have more casualties. And the fight would've taken longer. Maybe more Nids would have got through.'

'By the way sir, do we know how they crept up on us yet?'

'Oh – the Tech-Priests figured that one out earlier. Seems they were running their seed-craft cryogenically or something. Cooled right down, so the infra-red signature we'd normally look for was pushed out into the microwave.'

'Where no-one was looking.'

'Exactly. They must have thawed out their Nids in a rush, just before they hit synchronous orbit. That's when we saw them, of course. Mind you, reflected sunlight would've been enough anyway at that point, you know, to tell us they were there.'

'Deep-frozen Nids. I wouldn't have believed they could pull it off. That's worryingly clever.'

'Yes it is, isn't it? The last thing we need is smart Tyranids.'

'Mind you, going through Snake to get to Command was pretty smart, too.'

'No, it's not a bad idea, is it? Luckily for us, it failed. Since at least some of the crew did their duty…'

'I reckon Thandess won't be having a good day, sir. He's just seen most of his aspirants fail.'

'Yes – but he's rid of that Sarok bastard now. Slimy little oik. Abandoning his post in the face of the enemy, desertion, disobedience … he's probably headed for the servitor factory now. And that clique of his – well, I suppose they were led into it. They'll probably get reconditioning, then serfhood. To think Karo and the others had to fight in those cowards' defence…'

'Still, they did, didn't they?'

'Yes. That manoeuvre with the garage was a good idea. It probably saved all their lives. I suppose if nothing else, it all simplifies the Sixth Company's selection, too. Talking of selection, how are ours doing?'

Kodos looked pained. 'Sandrer and Fegust. And that's it. The others aren't Ravens. They're not bad lads, they're hard-working and they keep trying … but they haven't quite got it. That's pretty obvious now. I know you need more, my lord, and for what it's worth I'm sorry … but I can't write those references for the others. I'd be lying through my teeth if I did.'

Lakon nodded. 'I'm not asking you to lie, Sergeant. No, I think I might have another idea, actually.'

Kodos frowned. 'What, sir?'

Lakon tapped the slate. 'We've just seen these three behave the way we'd expect from Space Marines. They did their duty without argument and without cowardice. They've upheld the Chapter's honour. They haven't brought any shame on us today. They put aside their own personal feelings about the Sixers and did their duty toward the defenceless. And for that matter the people of Riothria Minoris. They've done the Emperor's work today.'

'Yes my lord. But the fight…'

'Has no non-Chapter witnesses.' Lakon rapped his knuckles on the desk. 'No surviving ones, anyway. I can't see much point making a great fuss of it, now. I think…' He looked at his helmet, sat on the other side of the table. He picked it up. 'One moment. I need to speak to the Raven Lord.' Lakon put his helmet on.

Kodos waited patiently. His face was stoic but in his eyes, there was the smallest hint of the sudden hope he was feeling.

Lakon slid the helmet off. He was smiling. 'I've just spoken to our lord and master. And you know what? He agrees.' Lakon pointed at the slate. 'This cancels out that stupid little brawl. There's no honour-debt left to pay. Karo, Patreus and Shepherd are reinstated.

'We have our three Marines.'


	17. Chapter 17 Acceptance

'I wonder what this is for?' Patreus poked at the tent with a finger. The heavy fabric rippled. Outside the wind moaned. Boots crunched on the muddy paths through the camp.

Nasty was pacing up and down in the small space inside the tent. 'I don't know. You'd think they'd be pleased!'

'We'll find out soon enough.' Alaster was stood in the corner of the tent, trying to look calm.

After the battle at the outpost, they'd been relieved by forces from the Sixth Company. Thandess had arrived shortly after. He'd separated his aspirants into two groups – those who had fought and Sarok's groupies. Sarok's groupies had been told in no uncertain terms that they had failed. Sarok himself was taken away shortly afterwards. No-one had seen him since. The others had been loaded into two Rhinos, one for the failures and one for the others. Alaster had watched the Rhinos drive off – in two different directions.

Haras had been attended by one of the Sixth Company apothecaries. His condition had been deteriorating. He was evacuated as soon as possible. Alaster got the impression that the prognosis wasn't good. The bodies of Taros and the murdered marine had been taken with him. The apothecary had also removed the still-unconscious Guardsman. Alaster had heard him muttering something about a 'permanent vegetative state'. Alaster didn't know what that was, but it didn't sound good. He didn't feel much sympathy for the traitor.

Shortly after that, a Rhino bearing the Fourth Company livery arrived. With it came – of all people – Kodos. Alaster had been startled to see him. Surprise had turned to puzzlement when they were told to board the Rhino. But it was their obligation to serve the Ravens, so Alaster hadn't argued. The Rhino had driven them here, to this camp. From the size of it, Alaster gathered it was one of the central bases. They'd been told to wait here, in this tent.

Half an hour ago, some refreshments had arrived. Alaster had been feeling thirsty from his exertions. The contents of the jug of fruit juice had gone down nicely. With it had come some fruit and cheese pastries. Alaster gathered these were a Riothrian specialty – he wasn't so sure about the cheese ones but the fruit variants were tasty. The fruits were obviously something local. They had a spicy edge in the flavour that Octalian ones lacked. Still, the sustenance was welcome.

The tent was made of simple green fabric, hung over wooden poles. Its floor was bare earth, compacted and smoothed but unadorned. The only furniture were three foldaway chairs. There was a single lighting-panel fastened to the struts above. It shed a creamy-white light. The place had a utilitarian feel to it, functional but not pretty.

'Do you think we're in trouble?' Nasty asked suddenly, ceasing his pacing.

'What?' Patreus stared.

'I mean, could they be pissed at us? You know, stealing the Ravens' thunder or something.'

Patreus pulled a face. 'I hope not. That'd be absurd.'

Alaster raised a hand. 'Shush – someone's coming!' He heard a regular scrunch-scrunch from outside. It was the sound of boots on dirt. It was getting close, louder.

The tent-flap swirled open. Kodos strode in – followed by Capt. Lakon!

The three snapped to attention, trying not to look startled.

Lakon banged on his breastplate, taking their salutes. 'At ease!' he barked.

Alaster dropped into the at-ease stance, relaxing slightly. Lakon didn't look angry. Nor did Kodos. He guessed they weren't in trouble. Probably just a routine check-up, he supposed. Perhaps Lakon wanted to hear an account of what had happened, from the source.

'Well,' Lakon remarked, 'you three again. Don't seem to be able to stay quiet, do we?'

Alaster wasn't quite sure what to make of that. 'Sir. Permission to speak.'

Lakon nodded. 'Granted.'

'Have we done anything wrong?' Haras did get hurt, he thought, suddenly worried. Alaster wondered if there was something he'd missed, something that could have helped. Perhaps that was the problem? Or perhaps it was his own weakness in letting Sarok rebel?

Lakon looked amused. 'No, Brother, you haven't.'

Alaster relaxed momentarily. Then his brain caught up with his ears. What had Lakon just said?

Someone walked past outside, gear clinking. The wind hissed around the tent-flap. Lakon was watching him closely. 'How awkward for us. The three who behave most like Space Marines are the three not on the list. Awkward enough, in fact, that we've changed our minds.'

Alaster's jaw had fallen. He knew it was undignified to gawp like this but disbelief was warring with awe on his face. 'My lord?'

Kodos spoke this time. 'You're off the shit-list,' he told them. 'This outweighs that nonsense at the feast.'

'We're – we're aspirants again?' Patreus asked. His voice was calm but his face was filled with hope.

'A bit more then that, actually,' Lakon said. 'What you did – well, you used more ammunition than strictly necessary and you had a few slips. But it was basically a sound fight. And you didn't have much opportunity to plan, I suppose. It made a difference to the rest of the battle. You could have tried to take that Rhino, make a run for it. You didn't. And that counts for a lot.'

Alaster hesitated, then said, 'I'm still not sure I understand.' A truck rumbled past outside.

Lakon said, 'You've got yourselves selected. You're Storm Ravens now – or near enough.'

The three stared.

Then Nasty spoke. 'My lord. How can we be? I mean, I thought Ravens needed armour, geneseed, that sort of stuff, first.'

Lakon looked at Nasty. 'Brother, those things are all tools. They're useful tools, no, _holy_ tools, I'll grant that, but still only tools. Being a Raven isn't just about bolters or implantsd. In biological principle, we could give the geneseed to four in ten Octalian men. No, being a Raven is about what you have going on up here.' Lakon tapped his head. 'And that's something you have to learn. Bravery, faith, loyalty … you can't engineer in something that isn't there. At least, not reliably, anyway.

'That's what people on the outside don't understand about our training. It's not about failing people or stopping them doing things – it's about letting them, giving them a chance. Giving them an opportunity to learn those skills. Of course many don't – come exam time, if we don't mark harshly enough then our enemies will. But you have learned those skills. You've shown that in a way no-one can argue with. You didn't stand to gain anything from what you did at Snake Outpost – but you did your duty anyway.

'No, you'll get all the tools in due course. You'll get geneseed and all the implants. You'll get your bolt pistol, your chainsword and your jump-pack. But that doesn't change one fact. You're Space Marines right now, and it's time you realised that.'

Awe shone on Alaster's comrades faces. Nonetheless, he felt the need to raise one final comment. 'My lord. If I may.'

Lakon nodded. 'Yes, Brother.'

'We screwed up, before. We failed. That means we have an odd history. I don't – I mean, we don't want anyone thinking we've had special treatment-'

'Speak for yourself,' Nasty muttered.

'-or anything. Does – does that make any sense?'

Lakon nodded. 'You don't want to feel like you've been falsely set above your brothers. That's reasonable and that's entirely correct for a loyal Space Marine.' He shot Nasty a quick glare. 'However, it is entirely proper that worthy deeds should be honoured. Your brothers understand this.'

'Something else to think about,' Kodos put in. 'There are a thousand of us. There are four billion people on Delta. There are two hundred million more on the worlds that owe it fief. We recruit from these people. By the standards of the Imperium, they have a high chance of becoming Astartes. And even that high chance is less than one in four million. With odds like that – do you think _any_ of us have "normal" stories?'

'We're the Ravens,' Lakon said. 'We don't do "normal". And anyway, if you want a chance to square it with your new brothers, you'll get it very soon. Follow me.'

Knowing an order when they heard one, the three fell into line behind Kodos and the captain. As he walked smartly out of the tent, Alaster's mind was a whirl of confusion. This was amazing. This couldn't be real – could it? The fulfilment of the dream that had kept him going since that day in the school gym was right in front of him. Alaster half-expected to wake up at any moment.

Lakon and Kodos led them across the camp, to a big mess-tent. It was made of the same dusty green fabric as the previous one. Alaster could hear the sound of cutlery and chatter. The scent of food wafted out.

Lakon walked in without a backward glance.

Kodos put up a hand. 'One moment,' he said. 'This is the last hurdle. Lakon has to present you to the Company. They can refuse to take you.'

Alaster swallowed. He felt the hope sinking. Here they went again! 'Is – is that likely, Sergeant?'

Kodos looked at him, metallic eye glittering. 'We're not going to put someone before the Company if we think they'll say no,' he said. 'It hasn't happened in a long, long time. I think it's unlikely in your case. The video's been doing the rounds.'

'The video?'

'Of what happened at the outpost. What, you didn't know? Well we've got it all on camera. That record's partly why you're here.'

Alaster thought his head was spinning. 'So – you think we're okay?'

'Basically, yes. Try not to fall off the stage.'

'So – do we get geneseed after this?'

'Yes. You'll be sent back to Delta for that – we don't have the facilities here.'

'So what happens now, in the tent?' Alaster needed to know. He didn't want any more surprises.

'Realistically, they're going to want to get you drunk and hear exaggerated tales of your bravery.' Kodos shrugged. 'One word of advice – don't let them down. Your brothers don't get much fun in their lives. Make them like you today and you'll have friends for life.'

He paused, listening to something. 'Wait, I think Lakon's ready. Okay, go in. Walk to the side of stage and wait. He'll call you up.'

Alaster swallowed his nervousness, straightening his shoulders. Head held resolutely up, he marched inside the tent. Nasty and Patreus followed him. The tent was a big space, full of tables and benches. The tables were scaled to larger than human size – the same scale as the Space Marines sat at them. Alaster realised this tent must contain most of the Fourth Company! He felt overawed, struggling not to show it on his face.

There was a stage at the front. Lakon was stood on it. Next to it was a couple of steps. Two more recruits stood beside it. Alaster swallowed the brief feeling of being cheated of the limelight. Then he did a double-take – he knew those faces! Sandrer and Fegust!

Seeing people he knew was almost too much. Alaster somehow managed to keep going, until he was stood with them near the stage. Fegust and Sandrer seemed less surprised to see them, though.

Lakon was just finishing a short speech. '…always a good day for the Chapter. We remember those who fall, but we can move forward in confidence. We know that their legacy will be secured by those who follow. With that in mind, I would like to present to you Cadets Sandrer, Fegust, Shepherd, Karo and Patreus.' Lakon waved them forward expectantly.

As his name was called, Alaster's legs jerked into motion. He walked up the steps to the stage. The light was in his eyes, shining down from the bulbs above. The room was a sea of people, watching faces and intent eyes.

As Nasty, Patreus and himself stepped onto the stage, a cheer rose. Startled, Alaster saw some of the marines waving tankards above their heads. They seemed oblivious to the beer spilling everywhere. Others were pounding enthusiastically on the tables. The room was a din of joyous noise.

Alaster realised Lakon was smiling, just a little. The captain raised his hand. The din faded somewhat.

'I take it,' Lakon asked, 'that was a yes?'

The roar this time was deafening. A hundred Space Marines could create a lot of noise when they really tried. As the sound faded, his ears still ringing, Alaster realised that their acceptance was no longer in doubt.

Lakon nodded. 'Okay,' he said, 'Ravens of the Fourth Company, I now formally present to you your new Battle-Brothers. Don't get them _too_ drunk – they need to make the Thunderhawk tomorrow!'

Alaster felt weak at the knees. He knew he was grinning like a madman but he didn't care.


	18. Chapter 18 Geneseed

'This won't hurt one bit.'

'I don't believe you. Sorry but – oww!'

'That's what you get for distracting me,' remarked the Tech-Priest as she withdrew the needle. Alaster stared at the red blood filling the tube. He breathed deeply, smelling the faint scent of detergent in the room.

'I thought you already had blood samples and stuff.' He was sat awkwardly on a bench, somewhere deep inside the bowels of the Ravenholme. The three ex-aspirants had been dropped off by Thunderhawk that very morning. He fancied he could still feel traces of the hangover from the celebration on Riothria Minoris. Now that had been an epic booze-up! Alaster had memories for about half the evening. He recalled pint after pint of Riothrian ale. From later on he had hazy impressions of singing badly and something about jumping on a table. He also vaguely recalled seeing an upturned helmet, filled with beer. He couldn't recall if it had been meant for him or not.

He also recalled walking groggily up the Thunderhawk's ramp the next day, badly hungover. Patreus and Nasty hadn't been any better. The journey back had been an odd mixture of tension and boredom. They'd spent their time doing more firing exercises in the ship's range, when they weren't being poked and prodded by medical types. Everything was monitored – to Alaster's surprise, they'd even had their sleeping cycle extended to eight hours. Kodos had told them to co-operate with the medics. He'd said they needed to be in good shape prior to geneseed implantation. Alaster hadn't asked what would happen if they weren't – he guessed it wouldn't be nice.

Still, there'd been compensations. The extra sleep was wonderful. He'd got used to not always feeling tired.

'Well we need more,' she said. The Tech-Priest's name was Varla Kelso. Her face was not heavily modified, aside from one disconcerting red cybernetic eye. There were lumps and bulges under her robes, though. There was something disturbing about their shapes and placements – Alaster wasn't sure he wanted to find out what cybernetics she had hidden under there. Her manner was not the phlegmatic, logical detachment he would have expected. Rather, she spoke almost like she was someone normal. It left Alaster confused – he wasn't used to having his stereotypes challenged.

'Surely you're done with checking stuff?' Alaster said.

Kelso shook her head. 'You won't be saying that when your body goes crazy.' She emptied the syringe into a storage bottle. She closed the bottle's cap and placed it inside a nearby refrigerator. As the door clicked shut the cooling system hummed into life. 'But that should do for now.' She handed him a plaster. Alaster put it over the small needle-puncture. 'Perhaps there is something you should see, actually. Come on – come with me.' She pulled off the sterile gloves she'd been wearing. They made an unpleasant sucking sound as they came off. She dumped them casually in a small pedal-bin marked SURGICAL WASTE.

Alaster slid to his feet, off of the bench. As he stood, the bolt pistol shifted in its holster at his hip. Carefully, he adjusted it. He'd been carrying it since the day they'd boarded the Thunderhawk – now that they were confirmed as recruit-marines, it was their duty to be armed at all times. Alaster had been told at no uncertain terms not to misplace the gun; in the creed of the Astartes, that was a severe mistake.

He looked around the room. Its walls were smooth stone, covered in white paint. Overhead were circular banks of lights. Several were distributed around the room on stands. One such had been pulled over to his bench. There were other workstations and other benches. This was one of the Ravenholme's many infirmaries. Everything was painted white. The interior was stark, antiseptic. He supposed it made cleaning easier – there was nowhere for dirt to hide.

The ventilation hummed quietly in the background. Kelso walked off, her shoes clicking on the tiling. The sound echoed in the enclosed space. Alaster followed.

Kelso walked up to a door in one of the walls. She held her palm to the security reader. A camera swivelled and peered at the two of them. The door hissed open, revealing a short corridor. There was another door at the other end. The security procedure had to be repeated. Ominous shapes loomed overhead, swivelling to track them – automatic guns. Alaster tried not to shiver whenever he looked at them. Luckily for him his biometrics had been entered onto the system, as a temporary clearance. Otherwise, they'd have shot him to pieces by now.

Security was tight here.

Moments later they were stood in another, much bigger room. It had the air of a warehouse rather then a surgery. It was filled with neat ranks of big, fluid-filled tanks. They were cylindrical in shape, bubbling columns lit from below. It was warm in the room, warm and humid. Alaster felt sweat prickling over his body. The close air reminded him of the jungle camp on Delta.

The tubes were all mounted on fat plinths. Control panels glowed several shades of neon at their bases. At the tops of the tubes, cables and pipes snaked up to the ceiling. Alaster noted a network of piping across the ceiling – all the tubes were connected to it by bulging green hoses.

'Have a look at this.' Kelso walked up to one of the tubes. Alaster followed. There was something inside it. A pulpy, meaty mass maybe half the size of his fist.

'What's that?' he asked.

'Geneseed,' she replied. 'Grown from an extracted progenoid gland.'

Alaster stared at the thing. Up close, it wasn't appealing. Its colours were reddish, pinky-whites – the shades of uncooked meat. It was lumpy, like a deformed potato. Bluish lines, possibly veins of some sort, ran across its surface in a fine webwork.

'Um,' he said.

'I thought you might like to see it, before surgery,' Kelso explained.

'Is that … for me?'

'Yes.'

He stared at the fleshy thing. That was going inside him! Alaster tried not to shudder. It was somehow revolting and exciting at the same time.

Suddenly, to his surprise, Kelso smiled. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'Everybody feels uneasy.'

'You don't. Seem uneasy, I mean.'

'I've done this before. Many times. I've worked for six different Chapters, as well as the Ravens. You could say I'm used to it.'

'Where – where does it go? If I can ask that, of course.' Alaster was full of curiosity about the procedure he was about to undergo. All he knew was second-hand stories, many of them gross. He wasn't sure what the Tech-Priest could tell him, though. Her guild had strict rules about its jealously-guarded knowledge.

'Of course you can. Don't worry – we see Marines as a special case.'

Alaster blinked. 'How did-?'

'How did I know?' Kelso laughed. 'Everyone does that. No, as I mentioned, the Astartes are a special case. You work with the best equipment and technology we have. To use it effectively, you need a clear idea how it operates. You can't field-repair a plasma gun if you don't know a capacitor from a fuse, after all. And Marines are generally pretty discreet. You've got better things to do then run around breaking our monopoly.'

'So you can tell me about - all this?' Alaster waved at the room full of tubes.

'Oh yes. And to answer your question, we put it in above the bladder. The body's used to volume-changes there. There's a decent blood flow and it can get at the nerve pathways it needs. So it's well-placed when it starts spreading its retroviral agents around your body.'

'Retro-what?'

'Retroviral. You know, like the things that carry disease? Actually, viruses are amazing things. Did you know they reprogram your cells, to make more of themselves?'

'Yuck.' The idea had Alaster quietly horrified. Alien things, infiltrating the scared human body and depositing their cargo of foulness – he shuddered. It made having a cold sound like being raped, one cell at a time.

'Oh no, it's fascinating.' Kelso was looking at the column and its grizzly cargo, rapt. The reddish-pink light shone across one side of her face. Her artificial eye gleamed in the shadows.

'If you say so.' Alaster stared at the thing. 'So – the cylinders. Why are they all linked up?'

'The geneseeds – it's so they can talk to each other.'

'Talk?' Alaster did a double-take. 'You mean, like speak?' Surreal mental images flashed through his head. He pictured a foul, fleshy mass chattering away into a vox handset.

'No, no – I meant talk figuratively. No, they're not conscious. They don't have vocal cords. Or lungs. What they do is exchange chemical messages, through the fluid medium. It's actually very useful. It's a check on mutation – each geneseed can constantly compare itself against the others. If its chemical messages aren't in sync with its neighbours, it adjusts itself to get back in sync. It's very clever. It's how geneseed can stay more-or-less stable, for thousands of years.'

Alaster was fascinated, in spite of himself. 'So nothing can go wrong?'

'Oh no, loads of things can go wrong. If the chemical communication gets messed up, or if enough geneseeds are distorted – then the mutation is the norm and the rest change too. Or if something goes wrong when the geneseed is first created. That's how Chapter-wide mutations happen.'

Alaster had to ask. 'I, uh, I heard that the Ravens do have some mutations. No-one's actually, um, told me what they are.'

'Oh, those. They're silly things, really. It's just two things. Ravens tend to develop pronounced canines.'

'Dogs? What?'

'No, canine teeth. You know, the pointy ones at the front of your jaw? Fangs.'

'Oh. I'd never noticed.'

'Not every Raven gets it. And the growth isn't always that much. You're never going to out-bite a Space Wolf.'

'And the other thing?'

'The omophagea – one of the implants. In the Ravens' case it doesn't work as well. There's a special enzyme, for breaking down nerve tissue in the gut. The Raven omophagea doesn't secrete as much of it as other Chapters.'

'What does that mean?'

'If you eat a corpse's brain, it's hit and miss whether you'll get anything useful.'

'Oh. That – well I guess that sucks.' In a way, Alaster was relieved. He'd heard Marines did it sometimes, but the idea of eating bodies was gross.

'I wouldn't worry about it. To be honest, I'm not convinced the omophagea is that much use. A lot of the remains it could be used on – well, a lot of Marines won't foul themselves by partaking of heretics, for instance. If people don't use it, what's the point of having it?'

'Well I – to be honest I'd never thought about it.' Alaster shifted from one foot to the other. He tried not to look too uncomfortable. Cannibalism was an uncomfortable subject. 'So, once this goes in – what then?'

'Nothing for a few days. You'll need the toilet a lot, because of the constriction on your bladder. You'll be sore from the surgery – we have to limit your painkillers afterward, I'm afraid.'

'Why's that?' Alaster tried to look unconcerned.

'It's because of the geneseed and the messages it'll be sending to your body. Painkillers act on nerve receptors. That can have unpredictable consequences. If the geneseed gets crossed wires … well, that can get nasty. It might hurt now but believe me, it'll hurt a lot more in a few weeks otherwise.'

'So when do the next actual implants go in?'

'That's later on. Some stuff has to happen first. Your body has to grow appropriate blood vessels and nerve connections to support them. Your immune system has to be conditioned not to reject them. And then your body needs to open up some cavities for them to go in.'

'That doesn't sound good.'

'No it isn't. We have to watch that bit very carefully. There's a risk of haemorrhaging. Incidentally, something I do need to tell you. I know you've had months of suck-it-up-and-don't-complain - but we need you as whiney as possible for this process.'

Alaster blinked. 'I don't understand.'

'If something – anything – happens we need to know about it. Even if you think it's nothing. A moment's nausea, or a headache, or funny stuff with your vision. Itchiness, sneezing, panic attacks – all of these can be warning signs. We can solve most problems. But to do that, we need to know there is a problem.' She was looking at him intently.

Alaster nodded. He felt trepidation. This was a scary process! 'Okay. I'll keep that in mind.'

'See that you do.' She turned and tapped something out on the column's control panel. A bar graph appeared, with various coloured lines of varying heights. One of them was marked with an asterisk. It was dark blue in colour. Alaster noticed that one next to it was a lighter shade of blue but about the same height. 'What's that?' he asked.

'That's your geneseed chart,' she explained. 'The bars are the First Founding chapters and the major variants. The heights of them show how compatible you are. The higher the bar, the more likely it would work. This one is the Storm Ravens'.' She pointed to the dark blue bar.

'That's the same as the one next to it.'

She nodded. 'Not quite – there's a slight difference. But basically yes. This one's the Ultramarines. Since that's the parental source, it's no surprise they're similar. But it doesn't look like you'd make a good Raven Guard.' She pointed at another bar. It was far lower than the blue ones. 'Only seventeen percent compatibility. Implantation wouldn't be worth bothering with – there's no odds of it working.'

'So – where am I, for this?'

'Ninety-eight percent,' she replied. 'Which is pretty good, but bear in mind that's a probability, not a certainty. If we had a thousand clones of you and we implanted them all, we'd expect twenty failures on those odds.'

'That doesn't sound so good.'

'That's just from random chance, of course. That'd be if we just stuck it in you, handed you the other implants and waved you off. We can tilt the odds a lot here. Chapter doctrine allows for implantation at as little as seventy-five percent.'

'And that's workable?'

She scowled. 'Personally I'd put the threshold at eighty. But I'm a grumpy old woman. No-one listens to me.'

'You're not old!' Alaster said.

'Oh yes I am. Let's just say that I'm in my twenties – for the fourth time.'

Alaster stared. She didn't look over three hundred!

Kelso poked at another button. Something beeped. 'I'm a biological-modding specialist. I've done work on myself. I can't be bothered with old age, it sounds like hard work. I've never met a single cheerful pensioner.'

'Geneseed?' Alaster asked.

'No, there's not a female equivalent. My stuff's a separate technique. Although that is an interesting question, now you mention in.'

'What?' Alaster was confused again.

'Why there isn't a female equivalent – you know, to all this.' She waved her hand at the machinery. 'I mean, we've inherited all our knowledge from the Ancients. And given what they seem to have been like – well, I'm sure they would've had a female equivalent. Although to be fair we don't really know.'

'Why not?'

'They did a pretty good job of blowing themselves up,' she replied. 'Do you know, our best archaeological source is still stone carvings?'

'Really? Aren't there, like, cogitators and stuff? And surely their Inquisition would've recorded everything?'

'They didn't have an Inquisition,' she replied sharply. Alaster boggled at that revelation. 'And yes, there'd have been cogitators. Everywhere. More cogitators than people, I reckon. But problem is, electronics aren't durable. Get them wet or drop some rocks on them and snap! Gone. Paper rots. Photographs lose their colour. Entropy always wins in the end – the game's rigged. But stone – no, stone hangs around bloody near forever. Want to leave a message for future generations, grab yourself a chisel and bash some granite in. It's mad. We know what they wrote on their public buildings - but we don't have a clue what they did inside them! No, the Ancients were weird. Brilliant, but also weird.'

'But what's that got to do with geneseed?'

'Quite a lot. We get the technology from something called the Horiax Treatise.'

'That being?'

She waved a hand airily. 'A surviving technical librum. From Millennium Twenty-Five. It – well, I oversimplify. It doesn't really describe the modern geneseed procedure. The Emperor and his scientists re-worked it a lot. But it does show where they were coming from. We don't have the entire thing – only the portion describing the male process. It doesn't say there was a female one – but it doesn't say there wasn't, either. And it's interesting how suddenly the librum cuts off – rather cleanly, almost like someone took a razor to the book. Like they didn't want us to see the next bit.'

Alaster blinked. 'Why?'

'Well, I could just be being paranoid. The librum is damaged – it's a minor miracle any of it survived at all. There's so much else we've lost. But it is odd that this technique dates from M25 – the millennium when civilisation went off the rails. It'd been doing quite well before.'

'Had it?'

'Our ancestors don't seem to have had a problem with Orks. Think about that. They barely even mention them in their surviving writings.'

Alaster's jaw fell. Orks were the galactic version of weeds – there was no getting away from the green monsters! They were a major problem – only their complete disunity stopped them from drowning the rest of the galaxy under a green flood. He knew they were by far the most frequent opponent for Space Marines.

'There's more,' Kelso said. 'They shared the galaxy with the Eldar.'

'So do we.'

'I meant the Eldar at the height of their power. Not today's sad leftovers. When they were dicking around with stars, for heaven's sake! Stars! And yet apparently, they weren't a major problem either. We know they knew of each other. The previous society was enormous. Everywhere we go we find human ruins. Our ancestors got everywhere. But just think about it – even the Eldar apparently weren't much of an issue! Try and imagine what kind of society could be so powerful. And then suddenly that society falls apart? Practically at once? Suspicious timing, I think.'

'Where does female geneseed come into this?'

'Well, if your super-warriors can reproduce independently…' She waved a hand again. 'If that happens, you've just put your species on the wrong end of a natural-selection chain.'

'Surely we'd know about something like that?'

'Carvings on stone, remember? After the collapse people weren't really writing many history books. Or knocking up pretty buildings. It's surprising how little historical evidence we have for some events – even now. There were two particular Astartes Legions in the Great Crusade. All we know about them now is they existed. And that was only – only! – ten thousand years ago.'

'Millennium Twenty-five. Hang on. I thought that was when the psyker taint started? Wasn't that what cursed the Dark Agers?'

'Dark Age – I hate that term! It was nothing of the sort! But, now you mention it, I have a few issues with the psyker thing. Stuff no-one's answered.'

'Do you?' It was the sort of thing Alaster didn't ask questions about. Best not to, really. The less you knew, the better. Still, he couldn't help a glimmer of interest. This woman was weirdly fascinating, with her strange ideas. He got the impression that she was very keen on her chosen subjects. He also got the impression she didn't get the chance to talk about them much.

'I've heard people call the psyker thing the next step in evolution. But – that doesn't make sense. Evolution is gradual. Okay, change can be quick in geological terms, but that's still slow by human standards. Fast means fifty thousand years – appreciable changes aren't likely in the same millennium. And yet we have a species that suddenly became strongly psychic in M25. The same millennium that someone was apparently doing supersoldier research. We know they were dicking around with the genome. I don't think that's coincidence.'

'You're – you're suggesting psykers were _created_? Deliberately?' It suddenly like the stupidest thing Alaster could imagine anyone doing.

'Well, why would evolution select for something like that? Most of the time, psychic power just means something nasty from the Warp comes and eats you. If not, you get really powerful – and probably end up killing everybody for miles around. There's no breeding advantage in that. If anything, evolution should be making us as un-psychic as possible. The way to have children is have nothing to do with the Warp.'

That was true enough, he supposed. The Warp wasn't really healthy – everyone knew that. 'I see your point,' Alaster said carefully, 'but I still can't see why anyone would do something like that.'

She shrugged. 'If you don't know the risks, it mightn't seem such a bad idea. And we mentioned the Eldar. Their society had infrastructure based entirely on psychic energy back then. The Ancients were aware of them. It's not beyond imagining that some of them might've seen those powers – and got jealous.'

Alaster thought he was going to choke. Kelso was an extraordinary woman – she threw around these shocking ideas without a moment's hesitation!

'Alien genes?' he asked hoarsely.

She shook her head. 'No. You only need to look at the DNA – no funny sugars, no odd chemical groups, nothing like that. There were indigenous human psychic faculties – I suspect it was a case of boosting what we already had, not putting in something new. Unfortunately it blew up. There's also evidence for an AI revolt around then, too. So we begin to see what could have toppled that vast society. Not one disaster, I think, but three – psykers, Abominable Intelligences and rogue supersoldiers.'

'So no female Marines.' Alaster frowned. 'Although come to think of it, it does seem rather limiting. I mean, there are plenty of female Guardsmen, and they're no worse then anyone else.'

'It's the least-worst compromise, I think.' Kelso looked back at the geneseed tank. She tapped on the side of it. 'Astartes are out of the genetic loop – the modern treatments have sequences built in to stop any chance of normal reproduction. And you can lose more of the males from a breeding population.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Suppoing you had an island and a hundred people. And you had to rebuild Humanity from those people. If you had ninety-nine men and one woman, you'd have no chance. The pregnancies take too long. She'd die before numbers could go up much. But ninety-nine women and one man…'

'Well it's great if you're that man, I suppose,' Alaster said irreverently.

Kelso looked at him sceptically. 'No, I reckon you'd get tired pretty quickly.'

Alaster was momentarily outraged. Then he saw the funny side. Laughing, he said, 'That's the last thing I'd expect to hear from a Tech-Priest!'

'I'm over three hundred,' she said primly. 'I've been around.'

A thought occurred to Alaster. 'Hang on. If Space Marines don't breed – doesn't that mean the genes are lost?'

'Yes.' Kelso beamed. Alaster had the feeling he'd just offered a major insight. 'Bingo. In the long run, this business is anti-Darwinnian. It's ultimately self-defeating. Breeds humanity for mediocrity in war. Of course, in the short run, if we didn't, we'd get wiped out much faster, but it's still an issue.'

'But…' Alaster frowned. 'Isn't anyone doing anything about this?'

'They are here. That's the basic idea of the Octalian leveling system. To counter-balance the selection effect. Using those samples we take from aspirants, for other couples to adopt the embryos – and getting everyone else to breed according to their selection performance. The better you do, the more children. So in the long run everyone gets better. It's not perfect but the basic idea's sound.'

'But … Delta's just one world.'

'Out of a million. Yes. You're right. There is that.' Kelso scowled, as if reminded of an unpleasant truth.

'Is that going to be … enough?'

'No chance.'

***

'Ow. Ow. Ow.' Alaster was trying not to rub at the incision on his stomach. He didn't want to disturb the stitches. 'I think the local's wearing off.'

He was laid out on a padded bench in the recovery ward. Patreus and Nasty were with him. They were all wearing surgical gowns and hooked up to various monitors. They'd come out of their first round of surgery a while ago. It had been a weird experience. Alaster had been given a local anaesthetic – he'd been told it was much safer than a general. No-one was willing to risk a precious Space Marine randomly failing to wake up. He'd been there on the surgical table, feeling people poking and prodding inside him. It hadn't hurt, even when they took the scalpel to him. It had been bizarre.

And then they'd put the geneseed in.

There was a bulge in his stomach, below his belly button. Alaster fancied he could feel the thing move, if he shifted around.

'Skak,' groaned Nasty. 'I need the bleeding toilet. Again!' He pushed the button on the wall, to call for the nurses to help him to the bathroom. Alaster had never imagined just how debilitating being operated on could be. And to think this was only their first round!

The nurses arrived. Alaster watched as Nasty was led away.

'How are you doing?' he asked Patreus.

Patreus's eyes were bright, even if his breathing was laboured. 'Mine wore off an hour ago.'

'You look too cheerful. We've just been under the knife!'

'Yes but it was a holy knife!'

Alaster groaned. 'How can you be _enjoying_ this?'

'Suffering can be good for you. I know this is the good sort.'

'Okay, yes, I accept it as a philosophical point but – oh, bother it. You're almost as bad as Kelso!'

'Kelso?'

'Yeah, she's just as incomprehensible sometimes.'

'Oh, you mean your Adeptus Mechanicus person.'

'Consultant. That's what she calls herself. Consultant surgeon.' Each of them had their own assigned specialist, who was responsible for them alone. In addition to each of the consultants was a vast team of support technicians and junior surgeons. It seemed making a Raven was a labour-intensive process.

'You should count yourself lucky. At least she talks to you.'

'Yours doesn't?'

'I think she reckons I'm stupid.' Patreus looked resentful. 'If I ask her a direct question – yes, but not otherwise.'

'I kind of wish Kelso would talk less.' Actually, that wasn't really true. During the surgery, Kelso's monologue had been reassuring. It was a relief to feel the person with the scalpel knew what they were doing! 'Before they put us in for surgery, she took me to see the geneseed.'

'Eww.'

'Yeah, pretty much. And she gave me the full technocratic mind-trip while she was at it.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. She's bright, bright as anything – but by the Emperor, these Tech-Priests are weird.'

'You can say that again, Brother,' Patreus said. They heard a loud groan from the corridor. It was followed by the sound of someone being violently sick. 'Oh dear – sounds like Nasty's had another bad bathroom moment!'

*

At first it was almost a disappointment. Alaster experienced nothing new for nearly two weeks. Then one day, he noticed that his surgical gown wouldn't quite fit over his arm.

'Muscle growth,' Kelso told him, as she finished running a scanner over him. She frowned. 'Hmm. That's started early. Not sure I'm a hundred percent keen on that.'

Alaster swallowed. 'Is that a problem?'

'Not necessarily.' She put the scanner-paddle down. 'We need to see what your bones are doing. That's going to need a deep penetration, high-res scan. If your bones are toughening up, then that's okay.'

'If not?'

'When you move, your muscles push against your skeleton. Having the strength of ten men is all well and good – but not if your skeleton only has the strength of one. Crushed bone isn't fun.'

'Skak.'

'Quite. Actually, let's just check something else. Stand up.'

Carefully, Alaster did so. Kelso pushed some touch-keys on a slate on the tabletop. From somewhere, a line of white light shone out. Alaster started. It ran up his side and up to the top of his head, where it blinked off.

Kelso inspected the slate. 'You've grown,' she said. 'You're a centimetre up on the last measurement. Obviously growth hormone secretion is going off. Have you experienced any clumsiness? Dropping things? Slipping when you walk?'

Alaster frowned. 'Actually, I did drop my plate yesterday.' It had been embarrassing. Nasty had mocked him mercilessly. He'd had to get a new lunch. 'And I did bang my elbow, the other day. On the door.'

Kelso nodded. 'You're brain's having trouble keeping up. Its map of your body is out of date. You've got bigger. Not enough for you to notice, consciously, but enough to stuff a few things up.'

'Is that bad?'

'No, it's good news. It means your skeleton is starting to change too. That's what we want.' Seeing his perplexity, she added, 'Look, volume increases with to the cubic power, right? That's the standard geometrical doctrine. Area, though, only rises with the square power. But body weight depends on volume – so your weight will always go up faster. Faster than the area of bone through which that weight is supported.' She pointed to the ground. 'That's why we don't have ten-foot Marines. Sure, you could grow someone that tall – but the moment he stands up, he grinds his knees to dust.'

'Orks get that big.'

'Yeah but Orks are different, their joints and bones change as they grow. You only get one shot at this. So we have to get this right. Anyway, I'm relieved that you're taller – that's a good sign. But we still need the scan!'

*

Things rapidly went downhill from there.

Halfway through the second week, Alaster developed what seemed like a cold. He was sneezing constantly. He found himself running a fever and just generally feeling awful. Apparently his body had finally noticed the geneseed and was reacting to the retroviruses it was releasing. It was trying to deal with it the way it would deal with any infection.

Alaster was put on a huge dose of anti-rejection drugs. If the cold symptoms had been bad, these were much worse. Headaches, nausea, vomiting – apparently it was mostly the reactions to be expected, the drugs interacting with the geneseed's non-viral chemical messengers. Kelso told him the side-effects didn't imperil the geneseed, so they weren't going to risk adding any more drugs to the mix.

During this time, Alaster took to praying regularly. He didn't really understand what was happening to his body and privately, it scared him more than a bit. He'd never been hugely devout in the past and sometimes he felt a bit false doing it, but the act of praying generally calmed him down. Given that he was becoming one of the Emperor's warriors, Alaster supposed it wasn't completely unreasonable to ask for a successful change. He might sometimes be inadequate in life but he'd be no use to the Emperor if he ended up dead.

The Tech-Priests seemed happy with what was going on. Alaster wished he shared their optimism. By the end of the third week, everything hurt. His world became one continuous throb of pain. By the fourth week, something started happening in his eyes. He started seeing auras around everything and odd, jagged lines kept intruding into his sight. He was told it was a mixture of changes in his eyes, changes that would allow him to see in the infra-red and the ultraviolet, and also his brain changing. Just as his eyes were altered, his brain had to change to keep up. It had to learn how to process the new input – hence the weird lines.

He was made to spend time sat in a chair, like the one that Kaylos had used to test the aspirants for psychic talents. He had to sit there with this apparatus on his head while different lights and colours were shone into his eyes. He was told the apparatus was helping his brain, stimulating it to form new connections.

All it seemed to do was give Alaster a headache.

After that, Alaster began to lose track of time. His dosage of various drugs was raised, for reasons he didn't quite understand. His life became a mass of episodes of nausea and sedation, lucid periods and weird hallucinations. Here, deep inside the Ravens' central fortress, there was no sense of the passing of day or night. Alaster could have been there forever, or perhaps no time at all. The only markers of the time were the occasional trips to the surgery. He was convinced that one day, Kodos visited them – but then he wasn't sure that he hadn't just hallucinated the old Raven.

One day, during one of his intermittent lucid periods, he found himself sat up with Patreus. Alaster had had several hours of clear-mindedness now. He'd been carefully examining his body, in its new and partially-transformed state. It was weird. He'd bulked up with muscle. It was to the point that he literally did not know his own strength. He'd picked up a glass earlier to drink from and without even trying he'd crushed it between his fingers.

He'd then marvelled at the way the shards painlessly failed to penetrate his toughened skin. He'd shown it to Patreus, who was equally impressed.

They'd then had to call an orderly to clear the mess up, and a nurse to check Alaster over. She'd confirmed that there was no problem and had then brushed the glass off. She'd taken the remains away with her.

'That was impressive,' Patreus said.

'Thanks,' he said. 'How's it with you?'

'You're well ahead of me.' Patreus sounded envious. He was bigger and more muscular, too, but Alaster realised it was to a lesser extent.

'I'm not sure that's entirely good,' he said. 'I spend most of my time off my head on drugs.'

'You'll be done sooner,' Patreus told him. 'You should see what's going on with Nasty.'

'Is it bad?'

'I saw him yesterday. He keeps having allergic reactions to things. Yesterday he was all red and itchy.'

'Skak. I thought they tested for all that stuff.'

'Apparently not well enough.'

'Is he going to be all right?'

'Who knows? I hope so. Mind you, this is a strange business. I keep having weird dreams.'

'Weird dreams?' Alaster tried to shift on the seat to get a bit more comfortable. It was built for normal humans. Already it was on the small side for him. Alaster knew this was only going to get worse. From outside the room he heard a door open and close. Someone walked off down the corridor, muttering to themselves. Alaster had to smile. His hearing was getting stronger too.

Patreus sighed. 'Yes. I say dreams – it's actually the same one. I keep having it.'

'What is this strange dream of yours?' Alaster didn't personally out any significance on dreaming. It was just the detritus of the brain, waiting to be flushed out at the day's end. Other people felt differently. He could see that Patreus was agitated by it. The aspirant – no, Alaster reminded himself, his brother – kept scratching at his ear and brushing his hair back. He didn't seem to be aware he was doing it.

'It always starts off the same,' Patreus said. 'I find myself in a black place.'

'A black place?'

'Yes. It's dark and I can't really see anything. There's an impression of fog, swirling around me. I take a step forward. The ground squishes beneath me.'

'Squishes?'

'Yeah. It's the same in every dream. You see, I realise I'm in a swamp at that point. I see a light in the murk, a kind of golden beacon. It's a long way away. It's blurry in the fog. But I can see things now, just a bit. There's stagnant water everywhere. Dead tree trunks sticking out of it. Everything smells rotten.'

'Lovely.'

'No, it's really not. I try and walk toward the light. It's hard going. The ground's soft and muddy. I don't really get anywhere. But then I see some bigger tree stumps. Only there's something wrong.'

'What, apart from the rest of the dream, you mean?'

Patreus ignored the facetious remark. 'There are snakes, nailed to each stump.'

'Snakes?'

'One on each. I can see they're dead but as I walk past, their heads turn and hiss at me.'

'Okay, so you're being menaced by undead snakes. Weird. Maybe I should try some of whatever you're on.'

'It gets freakier. I walk beyond the line of stumps. I find myself in a ruined city. It's flooded – the marsh is flowing in. Everything's broken and demolished. I can still see the golden light – it's closer now. I follow it along. In the middle of the city I find a sort of mechanical flask.'

'A flask?'

'Yeah. It looks a bit like the geneseed tubes. Only it's got loads of pipes coming out of it, into the water. And they're pumping poison into the water.'

'What happens then?

'I wake up,' Patreus shrugged.

'That is an odd dream,' Alaster agreed.

'Yeah. I've had it so many times now. Thing is – you remember the dreams we had, aboard the transport?'

'Yeah, on the way out from Delta.' Alaster remembered his nightmare, which had starred what he now knew must have been Iron Warrior Chaos Marines. Those dreams, he suspected now, had presumably been the first stage in the aspirants' psycho-conditioning. Some things Kelso had said while he was wired up for the brain adjustments had hinted at it. It had surprised him how subtle the conditioning had been – he still wasn't entirely sure it was even happening.

'Well these dreams – they remind me of those ones.'

'Do they?'

'Yeah. I almost feel like someone's trying to tell me something.'

'No. I think we can knock that one on the head.'

'Can we?' Patreus sounded almost disappointed.

'Look. Fact one. We're both on some serious drugs. I've had hallucinatory episodes and you probably have two. Fact two – all this business about swamps and snakes. Before we came here, we were fighting in a place called the Hydra Delta. It was full of marshland. And we were at somewhere called Snake Outpost. That's how all this snakes and marshes stuff got into your brain. Let's be honest, it was a scary experience. It's not a surprise we'd have some after-effects from something like that.'

'And the golden light?' Patreus's tone was doubtful. He clearly didn't buy Alaster's theory.

'I don't know. Probably just your hope for a light at the end of the tunnel. Or something.'

*

Alaster started to go through an alphabet soup of implants. It was clear enough what the Secondary Heart was but the names got a bit more confusing after that. Kelso patiently explained everything but Alaster felt he was frequently missing stuff. He tried to keep track at first. Biscopea, Larraman's Organ, Catalespan Node, Betcher's Gland … Alaster had completely lost track by that point. He was beginning to wonder how they'd find room for anything else inside his torso.

However, after a while, things started getting better. Quite abruptly one day, the headaches and the nausea stopped. The lucid periods expanded. Alaster soon found himself untroubled by hallucinations or drug-hazes. The strange aural and visual effects ceased. He could see clearly – so much more clearly than before. Alaster was amazed at how good his improved eyes were. It was strange at first – he woke up one morning to an entirely new world of colour.

He lay there in the hospital bed, staring at the bizarre tableaux around him. In addition to the normal rainbow he could see a mass of new colours. Some of them were more violet than violet – he couldn't think of a better description for them. Others were like red, only deeper. He was startled to discover that overnight, the elements in the room's electric bar-heater had started glowing! Then, as he stared, he suddenly understood what was happening. He was seeing in the infra-red! He was literally seeing the heat from the radiator!

He went to see Kelso immediately. She was delighted. A string of tests were undertaken. They quickly confirmed Alaster's boosted vision. His brain had finally worked out what to do with its new input.

Other changes swiftly followed. Alaster found his need for sleep declining rapidly. He found that when he did sleep, he suffered no grogginess on waking. He could go straight from the deepest slumber to clear-headed alertness.

Another welcome change came from the bathroom direction. Alaster discovered that he no longer needed the toilet anything like as often. And on the rare occasions when he did, the waste he produced was in the form of small, dry pellets – easy to dispose of. Good riddance to all those wasted minutes of straining on the potty!

Alaster had wondered, before, if his transformation would upset him when it arrived. Now that it was here, he found he loved it. His new body was filled with an amazing sense of energy. He always felt focused and alert. He didn't seem to get tired, even after hours of continuous exertion. As part of this new stage of his change, Alaster was sent to the gym that was attached to the infirmary. He spent much of his time exercising there. Apparently it was to give the new muscles a chance to bed in. Alaster didn't mind – the constant exertion wasn't the nightmare it would have been beforehand.

It was at this point that Kodos reappeared. Alaster found him, talking with Kelso at the infirmary, when he came back from a twelve-hour session in the gym. Even after all that time, Alaster only felt even slightly tired. In all honesty, he could have carried on much longer.

On his return, he was startled to see Kodos. He was then even more startled when he realised he was almost looking the sergeant in the eye! There was only an inch or so in it, and that was probably only on account of Kodos's ceramite boots.

Kelso told him that while they waited for the next and final stage, Kodos would be giving the new brothers some additional close combat training. Although Alaster was ahead of the others, Nasty and Patreus were starting to catch up. Alaster suspected they could have simply finished the process for him, now, but they wanted to graduate the three together. That was reasonable, he supposed. Anyway, he was in no rush.

Kodos took the three to a training hall further down the main corridor from the infirmary. Alaster was surprised to discover Fegust and Sandrer already there, waiting. They were close to the end of geneseed enhancement too. It was weird seeing them again like this – for a moment, it pulled Alaster up short. He remembered Fegust as the short, freckled fifteen year-old he'd been when they'd first met at the jungle camp. Now he was seven feet, three inches of solid Astartes killing machine. Alaster momentarily found him intimidating – then he remembered that he looked exactly the same.

This was going to take some getting used to after all.

Kodos had them training in the use of swords. Alaster hadn't actually handled one before – his previous training had all revolved around ranged weapons. Still, sword fighting was a useful skill for a Space Marine. It had advantages from a biological point of view as well, allowing him to practise with his new, improved sense of balance and his new reflexes.

They underwent several weeks of this before Alaster was called back to the infirmary.

'Okay,' Kelso said to him as he sat on a bench. She had just finished giving him another scan. She put the instrument down, back on its bench. 'It looks like everything's in order inside you. All the other implants are in and stable. You haven't rejected anything. I guess it's time for the last one.'

'Which is that?' Alaster asked. 'Sorry, I've kind of lost track.' It was weird hearing his changed voice. It was deeper and growly – everything about his new form seemed designed for violence or intimidation.

'The Black Carapace,' Kelso told him. 'The power armour interface. That's the only one we have left to do.'

'Wow,' said Alaster. 'Nearly there!'

She nodded. 'Yes. Unfortunately, the last operation is the least pleasant.'

'Why's that?'

'The carapace links into your nervous system. Painkillers act on nerve receptors. Can you see where this is going?'

'Oh.'

'Yes.' Awkwardly, she added, 'Sorry about that.'

'So this isn't going to be much fun?'

'No, not really. Luckily, your pain tolerance should be well up now. Is, in fact, from the tests we ran last week.' Alaster remembered them very well. He'd been repeatedly stung with a sort of electric-needle device, tuned to various levels of pain stimulation.

'Well,' sighed Alaster, 'I suppose it'll be good when it's over.'

'Yes. And you needn't worry about long-term effects, either. Your stress response has been completely changed. You won't get any of that silly trauma stuff. You can't, in fact. There's none of that dysfunctional PTSD response or any serotonin uptake issues anymore. You're entirely free of that nonsense.'

'So it won't make me mad,' Alaster said without enthusiasm. 'Well, I suppose that's something. So – when do we do this?'

'That's up to you. But I'm ready whenever you are.'

'So when's the soonest? The quicker this is over, the better.'

'Well we need to prep you for surgery – but a couple of days is doable.'

'Okay.'

***

The final operation went smoothly. It wasn't a nice experience, but to his surprise, Alaster found it was manageable. It seemed his pain tolerance had indeed been raised to superhuman levels.

He was kept in for a couple of days after the operation, while his body recovered and adjusted to its newest and last addition. After a few days the scars had faded completely. Alaster went through a repeat of the visual and auditory disturbances as his brain adjusted to the latest input. This time it happened faster – only a day or so before things were back to normal.

Finally, he found himself sat on a bench in the infirmary, ready for the final set of tests. He could see himself in a mirror set up against the nearby wall. The carapace had transformed his chest. He could see it, like a dark shadow underneath the skin around his torso. He remembered seeing something similar – Kodos, on the day at the camp when he'd challenged the aspirants to fight. Alaster had caught a glimpse of it underneath the sergeant's robe.

Seeing one close up like this was another peculiar experience. Alaster poked at it, experimentally. It was hard, lots of little segmented plates. Kind of like a built-in flak jacket. He'd been told that apparently, the carapace could stop a bullet, within some limits.

There was more to it then just tough plates. His torso sprouted several new openings, like supplementary belly buttons. These new ones, though, weren't of nature. They were regular in shape, looking suspiciously like sockets and plugs. Things were clearly meant to connect into them.

His suspicion was quickly confirmed. Kelso appeared with a couple of handfuls of cables and pipes.

'We just have to plug these in,' she told him, 'make sure everything's working. Sorry – this is a bit undignified.' She busied herself around him, shoving things into his black carapace. Moments later Alaster found himself sat in the middle of a freakish web of tubes and cables.

'You're right,' he said. 'This is undignified.'

'One more moment,' Kelso told him, peering at a screen. She tapped a couple of keys.

Alaster suddenly felt weird. 'Uh – what just happened?'

Kelso was peering intently at the screen. Something beeped. She stood back, smiling broadly. 'You just became a full Space Marine, Brother.'

'Did I? Oh. Uh, that's nice, I suppose.' Alaster was still feeling weird. 'So – what is this stuff doing?'

'Feeding data to your carapace. Simulated power armour stuff. You're getting all confused because you're not actually in power armour – the rest of your nervous system is having an argument with the carapace.'

'How is that good?'

'It means everything's working properly.' She tapped a key and the sense of otherworldliness faded. 'Right, well, we can get these cables out now. Twist them gently, then pull. Yes, like that! Don't just rip them out, that's not really good.' She busied herself helping Alaster unplug everything. 'We'll keep you in for a couple more weeks, just to make sure everything's okay. But your change is basically complete now. Congratulations, Brother.'


	19. Chapter 19 Readying for War

'That was horrible.' Nasty was complaining.

'It was necessary.' Patreus was being his usual self, quick to defend the Imperium's practises.

'They cut me open while I was awake! It hurt!'

'Yeah. It did. But you're okay now, aren't you?'

'Well … yes,' Nasty admitted.

'Well then. And you haven't had any nightmares or anything, have you?'

'Well … no. I suppose not.'

'So you haven't suffered any after-effects, have you?'

Nasty fell silent, his griping short-circuited.

It was true, Alaster supposed as he listened to the others. That final operation had been classic nightmare-fuel. It hadn't left him with any subsequent issues, though. No doubt part of it was that he'd wanted to become a Raven and was prepared to accept some pain if that was what it took. It also seemed, though, that Kelso had been right about his brain behaving differently now. Alaster didn't mind. It was good not to be forced to dwell on it. That unpleasant experience was over and done with. Time to move on.

He looked around the recovery ward. It was a much more normal environment, several smaller rooms grouped around a communal area. The rooms had beds. The communal area had a couple of sofas and a big window. It looked out over one of the triangular gardens, nestled inside two of the Ravenholme's radial wings. There was a clear blue sky beyond. There was a narrow occasional table sat next to the window. On it were a jar of flowers. They gave the room a sweet scent, almost but not quite masking the odours of cleaning agents and visitors.

Alaster marvelled again at the power of his remodelled nose.

'When do we get to do something?' Nasty was getting bored. His complaining was a symptom. They'd been cooped up in here for more than two weeks, while the doctors kept a final eye on them. Alaster suspected Nasty hadn't really been bothered about the black carapace surgery. It was just something to moan about.

The door hissed open. Kodos walked in. 'About now,' he remarked.

Alaster was no longer amazed at the sergeant's powers of perception. He'd heard the man walking down the corridor some time before he reached the door. Kodos had waited just outside for a few moments, as if pausing to hear what Nasty would say next.

Alaster stood. The other two clearly hadn't been paying attention. Surprised, Nasty and Patreus quickly jumped to their feet, trying to look something resembling alert. Alaster surreptitiously tried to smooth down his Chapter robe.

Kodos gave them all a jaundiced look. 'Brother Patreus, where's your bolt pistol?'

'Uh, here, Sergeant.' The holster had snagged itself in Patreus's robe, pulling a fold of fabric over it. He tugged it free.

Kodos sighed, rolling his eyes. 'Bringing the storm is difficult if you can't find your gun. Pay attention, Brother. Don't do it again.' He inspected the three of them closely. 'Well it looks like the geneseed's bedded in. Time we got you off your lazy backsides. You'll get fat if you stay here. Can't be having that. It's time you met up with your squadmates. Today's an important ceremony.'

Squadmates? Alaster tuned in.

'Yeah, you heard that right,' Kodos continued. 'You're being formed up for your assault squad today. There'll be six of you.'

'Who else, Sergeant?' Alaster asked.

'But there's something we have to do first,' Kodos said, pointedly ignoring Alaster. 'Form up. Follow me.'

*

Kodos led the three mystified Space Marines out of the medical area. There was a pause at the front desk while Kodos signed some forms for the other two consultants. There was no sign of Kelso. Apparently one of them had Alaster's notes for her. Neither of the Tech-Priests spoke or even looked at the three. Alaster felt obscurely offended by the snub. Was that all they were for the Tech-Priests, specimens to come off a production line? In a matter of moments they were declared discharged. They were led out, back into the maze of corridors inside the Ravenholme.

Kodos took them to one of the express tubes. They'd taken some getting used to the first time Alaster had encountered them. You stepped inside and some invisible force whisked you up or down, left and right along the tube. Only you just stood there, feeling nothing while the world flashed past. Alaster could understand their utility, in a vast complex like this, but they were still unnerving.

They were whisked deep in the facility. Stepping out of the tube Alaster found himself in an odd, twilight environment. It was lit with dim red lamps and the occasional actinic white arc-spotlamp. The place had an industrial feel, with rooms full of complicated and noisy machinery. The air smelled of machine oil and ozone. The skull-and-cog motif of the Adeptus Mechanicus was everywhere. There were few reminders that this domain at least technically belonged to the Storm Ravens.

'Welcome to the Tech-Priests' lair,' Kodos told them. As he spoke, a servitor shambled past. Its limbs shuffled and its motors whirred. Its sallow face was part-obscured by a tattered grey hood. For a moment Alaster thought he caught a flash of familiarity – did it look just a bit like Sarok?

The servitor was gone before he could tell for sure.

Patreus was looking around, superstitious fear on his face. He made the sign of the eagle. 'Where are they all?'

'In their cubicles.' Kodos shrugged. 'Mostly they telecommute. Plug their brains into their network. Give their devices orders that way. It's odd. You don't see that many Tech-Adepts here, in their own inner sanctum. But don't worry – they're watching us right now.'

As if on cue, a door irised open further down the corridor. A heavily-augmented Tech-Priest stepped out. The face was lost under his hood but there glowed two sharp blue lights where eyes should have been. A fat hose snaked out from the shadows, close to where a mouth should be. It wasn't clear if it connected to a mask, or plunged straight into the head.

'Magos Rassilan,' Kodos said respectfully.

'Master Sergeant Kodos,' the Tech-Priest replied. His – her? – voice was smooth, polite, educated. Alaster couldn't determine a gender. Something about the sound suggested a simulation, rather than vocal cords.

Alaster was stood here, in the belly of his own chapter's central fortress. And yet he had a peculiar sense of being stood on the threshold of an alien world. He felt as if this Tech-Priest was the gatekeeper.

The Tech-Priest added, 'I know why you're here.'

'Good. It pays to phone ahead.' Kodos paused. He looked around, then spoke again. 'Is everything ready?'

'Yes. As I indicated. The holy Manufactory has completed its forging. The blessings of the Machine may be sought.'

'Okay, thanks.' Kodos nodded politely. He looked back at the three. Lowering his voice, he said, 'The Tech-Priests insist on this little ceremony. It's a nuisance. But, I suppose this is one machine spirit you don't want to piss off. It might be a bit weird but just try and put up with it.'

'What's going on?' Nasty asked.

'You'll find out soon enough,' Kodos told him. 'Now in the meantime, do what the Magos tells you. When you're done I'll be waiting.' He stepped back. He folded his arms.

'Follow me,' Magos Rassilan told them.

He led them into a large, dimly-lit hall. The door irised silently shut behind them. Alaster had a feeling of being cut off, like some umbilical to the outside world had abruptly been severed. He took a breath to steady himself. He had a brief urge to turn round and bolt from the gloomy hall.

Up ahead was what looked like an altar. It was sat in the middle of a wide dais. The sides of the dais were carved with deep, wide grooves. Alaster realised that from above, it would look like a giant cog. He noted that the altar wasn't rectangular, it was actually elliptical in shape. It was made of some black stone. Four fat, dribbly candles were clustered near the centre. Alaster thought that seen from above, the altar might resemble an eye, sat in the middle of the cog. Presumably that had some resonance for the Tech-Priests. Consciousness and the Machine, perhaps?

Stood behind the altar was a servitor choir. Each of them held a different tool – one had a spanner, another a wrench, the one next to that something Alaster didn't recognise. They were chanting something, slowly and over and over again. They were creepy. He tried not to look at them too closely.

The room was heady with the smell of incense. The Magos beckoned them forward, toward the altar. He motioned them to kneel before it.

Alaster felt uneasy about this. It didn't quite seem right. Still, he remembered Kodos's words and did what he was instructed. However reluctant, Nasty and Patreus followed suit.

The Magos stepped up onto the dais. He began some complicated ritual formula. Alaster was struck by the contrast between him and Kelso. Suddenly, he realised that he'd never seen her do anything like this. In fact, he couldn't even remember there being even one votive candle in her surgery. No icons, no incense and not even any muttered prayers to the machine spirits. Kelso had seemed the consummate blinkered rationalist. And yet apparently everything had worked perfectly in her surgery.

Alaster wondered at the significance of that.

The ceremony progressed. The Magos raised a chalice from the altar. He sprinkled each of them with oil, a few drops landing on Alaster's head. Alaster wasn't sure how he felt about having machine lubricant dribble down his forehead. It didn't smell very nice.

The Magos put the chalice down. He chanted some more. It went on for a while.

Then, to Alaster's surprise, Rassilan handed him a cog-shaped token, shiny in polished copper. It was carved with various sacred symbols of the Tech-Priests. Alaster recognised a couple of mathematical constants, a pi here and an e there, but some of the others were more mysterious. He wondered what the big G meant, or the thing that looked like a reversed 3 with a zero below it. Rassilan gave similar tokens to Nasty and Patreus. Patreus held his gingerly, while Nasty looked at his with unconcealed cynicism. Alaster wondered what the tokens were for. He suspected it might be some kind of votive offering. He wondered if this was entirely appropriate for Space Marines. This seemed rather close to idolatry. He held the thing awkwardly.

The Magos stepped down from the dais. He gestured for the three marines to follow him. Wondering what was happening now, Alaster followed. The Magos led them behind the altar. The servitor choir parted to let them pass. Alaster tried not to shudder as he walked past them. He didn't like their vacant, staring eyes.

At the far end, there were three doors. Alaster noted that each had a lock, in the shape of the token he was holding.

'The holy Manufactory awaits,' the Magos intoned, surprising Alaster by suddenly speaking in Gothic. 'Take your offerings. Offer them unto the Great Machine, and receive its blessing. Make your offering with pure heart, and the spirits will accept you.' He pointed to Alaster, then to a door, the furthest on the left. He then indicated the middle door to Patreus and the remaining one to Nasty. 'Go, place your offerings, and await the Manufactory's bounty.'

The Magos's words were an odd mix of formal and pretentious. Feeling puzzled, Alaster did as he was told. He heard the other two's feet on the floor, as they walked to their doors. Alaster slid the token into the cog-lock. It clicked neatly into place.

With a hiss of pistons, the door seal popped open. The door swung out.

Alaster stepped through. He blinked as white lamps snapped on. After the dimness of the outer hall, the bright light dazzled him for an instant. His enhanced eyes quickly adjusted. Alaster looked ahead. His pupils widened. Suddenly, he saw the point of this bizarre ritual.

In front of him, on a frame, was a suit of power armour.

It was coloured in the Storm Ravens blue-black. The right shoulder pad bore the Chapter badge, the lightning-bearing Raven, wings outstretched in flight. Its eye gleamed red, ever vigilant for traitors and enemies. The left bore the assault cross in bright blue-white. The suit's breastplate proudly displayed the Imperial double-eagle, details picked out in burnished gold. Alaster noted the knee pads, one bearing the fire-red triangle and electric-blue lightning bolt of the Fourth Company. The other bore the numeral III in blue-white lettering. Alaster remembered the insignia on Kodos's knee pad – it was the same. Interesting. The helmet was set to one side, on its own plinth.

His eyes were drawn to the collar-piece of the armour, just below where the throat would be. There was an engraving there. The lettering was shallow – he'd have struggled to pick it out with human eyes. But with his enhanced eyes and focused attention, the text was unmistakeable.

BROTHER KARO

Alaster realised he was looking at his own power armour. His pulse quickened. He felt a fresh sense of awe.

The door sighed behind him again. He was joined in the chamber by two servitors. Alaster wondered what they were here for. They moved past him, over to the armour. As Alaster watched, they methodically dismantled it.

They brought the components over to him, one by one. First there was a kind of undersuit – Alaster supposed it must be the pressurisable component. The servitors helped him into it. With some reluctance, he had to temporarily put his bolt pistol on the floor. He supposed this wasn't quite the same as wilfully losing the thing. There was an opening in the back of the undersuit. He had to climb in. It was a bit undignified, but it wasn't like there were any witnesses. The undersuit was literally skintight. It felt odd for the first few moments. He noted it had pressure-ring openings over his torso – they matched up with the various sockets and interfaces in his carapace.

After Alaster had that part on, they brought over the next layer. This consisted of a second undersuit, of shock-absorbing material. This was actually one of the most important parts of the armour, Alaster understood. He struggled his way into it.

Lastly the servitors brought over the outer ceramite shell. They put the sabatons in front of Alaster. He slid his feet in. They then proceeded to effectively 'build' the suit around him, from the ankles upward. Alaster began to understand why they were doing it like this – in its unpowered state, the armour was heavy. By the time the servitors got to waist-level, the weight was becoming apparent.

As the breastplate and backplate closed over his torso, Alaster felt things plug themselves into his carapace. Suddenly he discovered the surface of the armour had become sensate – just like skin. While the servitors were fussing with the backpack, he ran a hand over his breastplate. Even through the bulky gauntlets, he could feel every detail of the texture. The suit's autosenses were transmitting as faithfully as his own nerve-endings. Alaster was impressed.

With a click, the backpack was engaged. Suddenly, the sense of weight vanished as the servos kicked in.

He was surprised by how little it restricted his mobility – the armour's design was clever. All the parts were articulated and the entire armour system carried its own weight when fully assembled. Once it was powered, Alaster barely even noticed the encumbrance.

The servitors brought over the helmet. They slid it down over his head. He felt it lock onto the neck ring. The rebreather mask sucked itself to his mouth and nose, startling Alaster for a moment.

Experimentally, he turned his head.

He took a breath. Unlike the gas masks he'd used a couple of times in training, there was no struggle to breathe here, no sense of resistance. It was just like breathing normally. What was disconcerting was the targeting graphics that suddenly filled his vision, the way he only had to look at something for a cross-hair to zoom in on it.

Alaster squatted down, picking up his holstered bolt pistol with one gauntleted hand. He fastened the holster into place over his thigh. There - that felt better!

The servitors had appeared in front of him again. They were holding something else. A chainsword! It was rested on the palms of their hands. They proffered it to him. Alaster stared. He saw that it had his name engraved along one side of the blade! BROTHER ALASTER KARO. The chain-housing was the Ravens blue-black and the teeth of the blade glittered coldly silver. They looked viciously sharp.

Alaster reached out. His hand closed on the hilt, fingers sliding into place behind the grip. He grasped it firmly and took up his blade. He inspected it, holding it out before him.

Alaster was momentarily mesmerised by the glittering reflections on the teeth. He turned the sword over, regarding it closely. On the other side it bore the Chapter motto, BRINGING THE STORM, engraved in clear, confident letters. Oh yes, he could bring a storm with this, so he would! Alaster realised he was grinning like a maniac. Just as well he had his helmet on!

He pushed the blade's activation button, watching the deadly whirl of the teeth. He listened to the satisfying hum of their motion and he felt the slight vibration of the motors inside the casing. He felt like a small child loose in a candy shop.

Trying not to get too carried away, Alaster lifted his finger off the stud.

The two servitors stepped back. Formally, they bowed to him. Then they turned and left the small chamber. The door remained open. Alaster followed them out. He found himself back in the hall, now empty. There was no sign of the choir, or Magos Rassilan. He wondered where they'd gone.

After a moment, he heard a door sigh. Out stepped another fully-armoured figure, gripping a chainsword just like his. The collar-engraving declared the figure to be BROTHER PATREUS.

Alaster saluted his brother-marine in the Ravens' style, banging one fist on his breastplate.

'Wow,' Patreus said. His voice was full of boyish enthusiasm. 'Do you know, there were days I never believed I'd get here?'

'Nor me,' Alaster agreed. 'Still, it looks like you were right. Back on the bus.'

'On Gamma? Yeah. I guess I was.'

The remaining door sighed. Ceramite boots stomped hard on the floor. Out stepped-

BROTHER SANDY SHEPHERD.

'Oh dear,' said Patreus.

'I'm going to get them for this,' growled Nasty.

There was a hiss on the other side of the room. Surprised by the sound, Alaster whirled, bringing up his chainsword. Light spilled into the chamber. The door had irised open again.

'I guess that's our cue to leave,' Patreus said.

The three Ravens walked back out of the chamber, boots clicking on the floor. The sound echoed in the large chamber. The door slid shut behind them.

Kodos was waiting in the corridor. For the first time, Alaster noticed there was a name on Kodos's collar too. M SGT IVAN KODOS – Alaster wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. Not paying attention, he supposed.

Kodos regarded them with a jaundiced look in his one natural eye. 'So you lot've wandered back, have you? 'Bout bloody time. And you've remembered your swords – well that's one thing you haven't cocked up.'

Nasty sounded confused. 'What've we done wrong, Sergeant?'

'That noise – what do you call that?'

'Noise, Sergeant?' Alaster asked.

'You lot, clomping your way our out of the hall,' Kodos growled. 'If I was a heretic, you'd be coffin-filler by now. You lot need a reminder or two, I think. You've been sat in that hospital too long. Just as well you're getting some more training.'

'More?' groaned Nasty.

'Yes, more. You've just been handed a pile of new equipment. Do you know how to use all of it? Hell, can you even remember how to get out of that suit?'

Alaster realised he didn't. Oops. He should have been paying more attention when the servitors brought the bits over!

Kodos stood there while the three stood silently. He snorted, amused. 'Oh well. At least you look like Storm Ravens now. All right Brothers, follow me.' He walked off, toward the nearest tube.

The three followed.

They were whisked upstairs and elsewhere in the Ravenholme. The return to light and normality came as a relief to Alaster. Kodos led them to an exercise hall. It was empty except for three other Storm Ravens. The marines had the III numeral and the Fourth Company badge on their respective knee pads. Alaster recognised Sandrer and Fegust from their collars. The other marine, one Eorvan, wasn't someone Alaster had met before. He wasn't a new recruit. His armour had its share of dents. The paintwork was scratched. The grey trim of his shoulder pads was marked with the names of many campaigns. Alaster became aware of the blank, virgin-grey trim on his own shoulder pads. He felt embarrassed by their blankness.

Kodos stood in the middle, between the two groups of three. 'This is Brother-Corporal Eorvan,' he said, pointing to the other Raven. 'I have the unenviable task of turning you lot into an assault squad. He's going to be my second in command. I'm splitting you into two combat teams. Eorvan, you have responsibility for Sandrer and Fegust here.'

'Yes Sergeant.' The marine spoke. He sounded calm and self-assured.

Kodos looked back at the other three. 'And as to you reprobates … okay, I'm not splitting the section up. You haven't completely skakked up, I suppose. But I need another team leader. Karo, you're in charge of these two.' He pointed at Nasty and Patreus. 'You're the least-worst tactician out of you lot. Eorvan is also senior to you, though below me. Understand?'

Kodos's manner was sarcastic. However, Alaster realised a big responsibility was being conveyed on him. He suddenly wondered if it was too late to back out now. Concentrating, he squelched the thought.

'Yes, Sergeant,' he said. 'I won't let you down.'

Kodos nodded. 'See that you don't. Keep them in line and eventually we'll pull you up. Fight well and you might even make corporal inside the decade.'

Promotion in the Astartes was a slow process. Kodos was being generous, Alaster realised.

'Okay,' Kodos said, 'that settles basic organisation. There's one more ritual to get out of the way. Then we can get you off to the training ranges – where you skakking well belong! Squad, form up! After me!'

With practised ease, the marines fell in.

They were led on another confusing journey through the Ravenholme. The route was simply enough but Alaster was continually confused by the reactions of the people they saw. Whatever they were doing, any Chapter serfs they passed stopped and bowed formally to the new Space Marines. Since he'd been doing that himself what seemed like only a short time ago, he found it strange to be the recipient.

Finally, they found themselves outside. Kodos had taken them to one of the gardens around the base of the Ravenholme. It was beautifully landscaped. Lawns and gravel paths moved between clusters of trees and beds of flowering bushes. Off to the right and in the middle-distance, there was a large pond with a fountain.

Kodos led them to a formal area. There was a circular monument, a group of columns underneath a circular roof. It was in polished white stone. There was just enough room inside for one fully-armed Raven to stand. It was set on a platform with several circular steps up to it. They were carved with the names of heroes of the Chapter, many long-dead.

There were also a cluster of people setting up some camera equipment in front of it. They were fiddling around with portable mirrors and tripods. Alaster wondered what they were doing here.

'The Fourth Company's Place of Remembrance,' Kodos told them. 'Each company has one. It's were we remember our fallen brothers. And where you get your holo done.'

Oh. The holo. The penny dropped. Alaster knew what the photographers were here for.

He went over to talk the photographers.

Nasty sidled over. Alaster had to try not to laugh. Watching someone try to sidle in power armour was quite funny. His boots left squashed streaks in the grass. 'What's going on?' Nasty asked quietly.

'Don't you know about the holo?' Alaster asked him.

Nasty's helmet shook from side to side.

'But they teach you in school – oh, you probably never went, did you?'

'I've burgled a couple, if that counts.'

'Uh, not really, no. Look, this is one of those Chapter traditions. The family of a successful recruit always get a picture, on the recruit's ascension. That's us, today.'

'Okay. Doubt my mother'll care by now. If she's even still out there. But why here?'

'We're doing it here because, you know, to emphasize tradition. That we're the next in a long line of warriors, that kind of thing.'

Kodos looked back. 'All right,' he called out. 'We're about ready over here. Sandrer, you're first.'

Sandrer walked up to the steps. He stood with one foot on the first step. He posed with his chainsword.

'Uh, Brother,' Kodos said, 'no-one can recognise you like that. I'll let you take your helmet off, you know, for this.'

An embarrassed voice emerged from the grill. 'Uh, Sarge … how?'

Kodos was stood next to one of the photographers. He looked down at the man and rolled his eyes. 'See what I have to put up with?' The man laughed nervously, clearly not sure what an appropriate response was. Kodos turned back to Sandrer. 'Okay. Put a hand on top of it. Push it down – hard, mind! Then hold it down and twist. You'll hear a click. It'll hiss as the pressure lock disengages – yes, that's it!'

Sandrer finally managed to get his helmet off. He stuffed it under the other arm and re-posed himself. The cameras snapped.

They ran through the new squad, one Raven at a time. Finally Alaster found himself stood there. He managed to get his helmet off with the minimum of fuss. Once you knew how, it wasn't that difficult. The wind ruffled his hair.

Cameras snapped.


	20. Chapter 20 The Shadows Lengthen

'Yes, quickly – shift the damned thing!'

The parishioner glared at Tobias. For a moment, it seemed she would throw the box at him. He glared back, showing her that he wouldn't budge. Her eyes dropped and she picked up the crate. She rejoined the toiling queue. People were moving in a long double line, from the church to the waiting van. Going one way, they carried boxes. Going the other, they came back empty-handed, returning for more. The boxes were heavy. Many of the people looked tired and were sweating. The muggy weather today in Creekside didn't help.

Tobias looked at the woman stood beside him. Janessa seemed stressed. She kept worrying at her hair. Her business outfit was crumpled, in need of ironing. There were dark bags under her eyes. She hadn't slept much in the last couple of days. 'How long?' Tobias asked.

She glanced at the clock on her vox. 'The memo said fourteen hundred. But they usually strike an hour early. We can expect the police in – oh – ten minutes, I'd say.'

Inwardly, Tobias was still in shock. He'd been sat at home, just getting ready for the day's first meeting, when he'd happened to look on the holoscreen. And there it was, on the morning news – the Assembly had met in emergency session the previous evening. They'd voted to ban the planetary Originist Church, for 'unimperial activities'. The vote had been one hundred and twelve for, eighty against and eight abstentions. The talking heads on the morning news had been all over it – it was a highly unusual announcement and all the more so given that Faithful Road looked set to do badly in next month's election.

Given the lack of warning, no-one quite knew what to make of it. There was much speculation. Some commentators reckoned that First Minister Yelessa wanted to look decisive ahead of the vote. They argued she was doing this to shore up her reputation, after the Cabinet's difficulties with the economic crisis on Gamma. Some cynics dismissed the proscription as an attention-seeking stunt. More worryingly for Tobias, there was also a minority view that she'd been pressured into it by the Storm Ravens. Media queries to the Ravenholme, as usual, had met with evasion. The Chapter had put out a bland statement that 'under the terms of the Compact', domestic policy was a matter for the parliamentary authorities, and any queries should be directed to said authorities.

Typical of them, Tobias had thought, to dodge responsibility.

Anyway, whatever the First Minister's psychological motivation, the police were cracking down on Originist congregations across all three planets. Raids were occurring and clergy being arrested. The faithful had been informed that Originist masses would no longer be counted toward their legal worship obligations. Several particularly-vocal members of the flock were already up in court, facing hefty fines for threatening non-attendance.

'This is a disaster,' Tobias said.

Janessa said nothing but nodded, an exhausted light in her eyes. It was indeed. By some miracle, so far, they'd managed to clear all the arms caches before the police had got there, but it had been close-run in places. In Tannenda City, a couple of the faithful had bravely delayed the police by staging a traffic accident. Throwing yourself under a bus wasn't the usual way to be declared an Imperial martyr, but Tobias figured that Jalane Coldra's sacrifice counted.

St Teelek's was the last to need clearing. The parishioners, of course, had no idea what was in the boxes they were carrying. Tobias wasn't happy having them this close to the guns. Still, there was nothing that could be done about it. They had to work with what the Emperor gave them – and if it was this bunch of pensioners and the feeble-minded workshy, so be it. It was just a pity they were having to do this in the middle of the day, when most of the useful people were at work.

'I hear them,' Janessa groaned.

Straining his ears, Tobias did too. Behind the background of Creekside's traffic, he made out sirens.

'Thank the Throne they're announcing themselves,' he muttered. He rushed forward to hurry the queue forward. When that didn't work, he grabbed a box himself.

It seemed like forever, a frantic back-and-forth to the van. It was probably only a minute or so. Somehow, the last boxes got loaded. The sirens were loud now. The police must be pulling up at the front of the church. Tobias was panting, his chest aching. His arms shook from the unaccustomed effort.

There was one small mercy. The basement had emptied itself. Phelonas had vanished, not long after that silly priest had done a runner. Phelonas had taken all of the contraband gear with him, it seemed. How he'd done it was a mystery, but a convenient mystery. The crypt was just an empty space again. Only a few marks in the dust showed that there'd ever been anything down there.

He walked up to the van, opening the door. He climbed in, seating himself. He looked at Janessa.

'Go,' she said. 'I'll distract the police, give you a chance to get away.'

'You'll get arrested.'

'Yes, probably. Stop arguing!'

She was right. Tobias nodded to her. She turned and ran toward the corner of the church. He pulled the door shut. It clicked as the lock engaged. He pushed the start key. His lip curled at the blasphemous Adeptus Mechanicus sigil carved on it by the factory. Now there was another weed in the Imperium's garden.

The motor whirred into life. Tobias grabbed the yoke and pulled. The van lurched from its parking space. He drove off.

Some time later, several miles away, a man walked down a street. It was a quiet residential area of the city. It was not as well-heeled as the area around St Teelek's, being more middle- than upper-class. Still, it was a prosperous enough area. Sturdy modern houses sat in their neat little patches of garden. Carefully-trimmed hedges and flower beds lined the roadside.

The man was wearing a bulky coat and a broad-brimmed hat. It was tipped down, shielding his face from any Arbites cameras in the area. Underneath the brim the man wore a pair of polarised sunglasses – the reflections from them would confuse any face-recognition spirits. Lastly, he wore an itchy false beard. Up close it wasn't too convincing but it would pass a brief inspection.

The man turned onto the path to one of the houses. He closed the gate behind him, just like any other respectable resident of the suburb. He walked up the path, gravel crunching beneath his feet. He wiped his shoes on the doormat. A key clicked in a lock. The door opened.

Moments later, it closed again.

In the corridor, Tobias gratefully abandoned his absurd disguise. 'Thank the Emperor for that,' he muttered. He dumped the hat and beard on the doormat. He hung the coat up more carefully, on the rack beside the door. He walked over to the vox-unit, sat on a stand beside the door. He checked the screen for messages. Nothing from Janessa. He'd set his other number to redirect here if she called it. She hadn't, though. If she'd had any sense, she'd have lost her phone before confronting the police. He'd tossed his portable vox under the wheels of a truck on the way here. Since other church-members had its number, he had to assume the police did too, now. He shrugged. Oh well – he also had to assume the Hierarch was in a cell somewhere by now. A pity.

Luckily for him, she didn't know about this house. Nor did the church. It was owned through a complicated string of shell companies and ghost assets. He ultimately had a controlling interest in the arrangement, but it would be hard to trace back to him. This was a good place to lie low. He didn't have to risk leaving the city – the police would probably have roadblocks on the highways and they'd be checking papers on the trains. He wondered how many of the faithful they'd caught already.

He walked through the kitchen, whistling tunelessly. The kitchen wasn't huge but it was big enough for one person. The same could be said of the house. Two rooms on the ground floor, the kitchen, the living room and also the corridor. The stairs to the upper floor were opposite the front door. Underneath them there was a small down-the-stairs toilet. Follow the stairs up and you came to the first floor – the bedroom, the bathroom and a small store room that the property agent had grandly called a second bedroom. Tobias snorted at the memory. When he'd done the viewing he'd had a hard time not laughing at the woman. In principle, he supposed, you probably could get a single bed in there. If, of course, you didn't mind having only five inches' space left between it and the furthest wall.

Still, small as it was, the house had its uses.

He opened a cupboard, the hinges creaking loudly. 'Need to oil that,' he muttered. He pulled out a couple of bottles and a glass. He opened the bottles. A splash of amasec, a splash of orange and a splash of soda. He sipped the resulting cocktail. 'Hmm – lovely!' He smiled. He looked at the glass and frowned. 'Even if it is in a pint glass.' He shrugged. Oh well – no big deal.

The kitchen opened out onto the living room, separated from it by a breakfast bar. A fruitbowl sat in the middle of the black granite surface, its contents looking saggy and tired. The fruit needed replacing. Tobias nodded to himself. Something else to do. When the fuss died down in a day or two, he'd risk a trip to the nearby greengrocer's.

In the meantime…

He took his cocktail and walked into the living room. Greyish light streamed in through the big patio window to his side. A leaf scrunched under foot.

A leaf?

Tobias stopped in his tracks. He looked down. Sure enough, there was a leaf under his foot. He looked up at the patio window, irritated. It consisted of two floor-to-ceiling length panes. Both of them were mounted in openable frames. In good weather, you could walk straight from the living room to the garden.

One of the doors was ajar.

Tobias gently pushed it open. He stepped out onto the small patio. He looked around carefully. Nothing seemed disturbed. Even the shed at the back looked the same as ever. Tobias stood for a moment in the garden. It was convenient – the previous owner had planted the perimeter with fast-growing bush pines. They towered over the walls. No-one in the neighbouring houses could see in. There'd been a few half-hearted complaints to the City Government's offices about the height of the bushes, but nothing that a couple of bribes hadn't smoothed over. Tobias liked it this way – he thought no-one could spy on him in the house.

As it happened, he was wrong. Right at that moment, a pair of eyes were watching him from inside the shed. But it was dark inside the shed. From where Tobias stood, the single window just looked black. Its panes hadn't been cleaned in a while. They were murky. Even close-up, Tobias would've been hard pressed to see anything in there.

None the wiser, he turned around. He looked at the door, drink in one hand. 'It must have just popped open,' he decided, muttering out loud. There'd been some bad storms around the Winterval. That was probably what did it. Stranger things had happened, after all.

He walked back into the living room, feeling reassured. He made sure the doors shut firmly behind him. He tugged the long curtain across. The front window had a privacy net hung behind it, but the less light in here, the less likely anyone would see him. He didn't want to draw the front curtain during the day – that would just look odd.

Tobias looked around the room. He'd never got round to furnishing this place properly. At the moment, all it had was a bookcase, a single reclining armchair and a holoscreen sat on top of a rickety coffee table. Upstairs, all there was a single bed and a chest of drawers. Tobias took another sip of his cocktail. Oh well – it might be bare but it was still bearable. He'd manage for a while.

He sat down in the armchair. He snapped his fingers. The holoscreen clicked on, preset to a news channel. He took another deep sip. He could feel the alcohol, a rising warmth in his stomach. Okay, maybe this day was getting better. He leaned back.

It had been close but he'd got the van to its destination. The crates of guns were neatly stashed, in an anonymous warehouse several clicks outside of Creekside. They would be safe there – safe for when the Originists needed them. He supposed that this crackdown might actually be good in the long run. It would focus the faithful's minds, make them realise they were an oppressed people. They would have more stomach for the fight on the Day of Reckoning.

And when that great day had come and gone, well, Tobias knew how good it would be. The faithful would rejoice. They'd know to reward those who had led them through the dark times, those women and men with the skill and the vision to lead them to their New Imperium. And on that day, Tobias would humbly and gratefully accept his rewards.

He smiled at the pleasant thought. He wasn't greedy. Someone would be needed to run things on this planet. Only one world – that wasn't too much to ask, was it?

He watched the news for a while. There was more froth about the Assembly's decision. Lots of people were on air, complaining about the inconvenience. Business leaders were furious – the road-blocks and delays on the trains had made many staff late to work this morning. They reckoned it had already cost the planetary economy more than two billion. There'd also been twitchiness on the stock market. First all the problems on Gamma and then this! Was it a sign of growing instability in the Octalian system? Apparently some major Sectoral finance houses were thinking about pulling out. The Octalia 500 had closed down nearly nine percent – the biggest one-day drop in four years.

Tobias shook his head in sorrowful wisdom. All this difficulty, just for the Ravens! Silently, he promised the people on screen that things would soon be different.

He watched the news a bit longer. Later on, there was the obligatory frothing about the Storm Ravens. He tuned out during that bit. The constant hagiographies got a bit much sometimes. Oh, sure, some individual Ravens probably did good work, maybe even most of them, but you could never be sure with Space Marines. At the dawn of the Imperium, half of them had turned on the Emperor Himself. When someone willingly gave away their Humanity – well, how could you ever trust them again? The only way to tell for sure was to look for the dead ones, the ones who'd laid down their lives for the Emperor. They, Tobias conceded, probably were pure. But the irony was, you only had that surety for dead Astartes. Living ones … no. Why should the people of the Empire have to take that risk?

He flipped the screen to a devotional channel. Listening to some monastic music would soothe his troubled mind.

He drank some more of the cocktail. Now that was good!

He sat there for a while. Suddenly, the wind moaned. Tobias looked up, irritated, at the patio door. Was the damn thing open again?

No. It was shut. He stared. The curtain hung undisturbed.

The wind moaned again. This time he felt it, brushing against his clothes. He sniffed the air. It smelt different. The room was musty, like none of the windows had been opened in a long time. Tobias frowned. It hadn't smelt like that a moment ago!

There was a crackle from the holoscreen. The devotional chant lifted into a strangulated squawk. It cut off. Tobias looked back.

His pupils widened. The pint glass fell from his hands as his fingers spasmed open. He didn't even notice it fall. The screen had changed! The screen was wrong!

It was filled with phantasmal faces. A mass of puckering mouths screamed wordlessly at him. Dead eyes stared from rotting faces. The whole, foul mass swirled and squirmed like fog in the wind.

Tobias stared. Someone at the broadcast company must be messing around! He snapped his fingers twice, to change channel. The screen flickered. The faces vanished – replaced by a panorama. It showed a blasted, broken wasteland. Foul clouds swirled against an angry red sky.

'What the hell?' Tobias said.

The room abruptly became cold. Tobias shivered at the unexpected iciness. He turned-

There was a bang. The lightbulb in the ceiling exploded. Tobias ducked. Glass shards rained down. They twinkled on the carpet, in the half-light. The room was gloomy, deprived of electric illumination. The clouds outside had thickened. Only a dull, weak light leaked in through the net curtain. The only other source of illumination was the holoscreen – that shed a flickering, unnerving grey light.

The clouds darkened further. Rain splashed against the window. It grew heavier. Moments later, the downpour was hammering against the glass.

'What is going on?' Tobias asked.

'I grew bored of your devotional bullshit.'

Tobias started at the new voice. He whirled. 'Phelonas! What are you doing here?'

The voice had come from the kitchen. That was where the deepest shadows were. Of course. Of course Phelonas would gravitate to the shadows! Tobias peered into the gloom and recoiled.

It seemed the shadows weren't quite enough. He could just make out a shape, looming in the dark. He could actually see Phelonas! He couldn't see enough to be sure but he had an impression of a massive form. Phelonas seemed to be bulky, particularly near the shoulders. He was also tall. And - was that Tobias's eyes playing games, or did Phelonas seem to have horns? Yes – there they were, looming shapes in the dark, up near the ceiling.

Tobias swallowed. He felt afraid. Behind him, the rain hissed and pattered on the front window.

In the kitchen, two red eyes suddenly blinked into glowing life. Tobias swallowed again. Deep down, he realised this situation wasn't going well. In fact, he suspected he was in mortal danger.

'Well hello, Tobias,' Phelonas purred. 'We meet again.'

'What are you doing – in my kitchen!'

'You could call it tidying up a loose end,' the voice insinuated. Tobias saw that Phelonas was holding something. He couldn't see it clearly – it was black, like the shadows – but it seemed Phelonas had some sort of sword in his hand!

Something evil was in the kitchen. The words revolved in Tobias's head. _Evil in the kitchen. Evil in the kitchen. Something evil in my kitchen…_

'And not just your cooking,' the voice agreed.

'What?! What did you say! What do you want? Damn you - what do you want with me?' Tobias was breathing, shallow and fast. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. Desperately, he tried to force down the incipient panic attack. He focused on his breathing, making it deep and slow. He felt his racing heart calm.

'You've failed me,' Phelonas replied. His words cut through Tobias's efforts, like a knife through butter. 'Your usefulness is over.'

Tobias's fear was changing. Now that the adrenal surge was over, his mood was sliding into anger. 'How did you get in here? How do you know this place?'

'I've been here all along. As to how I know? I just read your mind. Not a very pleasant experience, I must acknowledge, but no great inconvenience.'

'You – read – my – mind!' Tobias was outraged. He felt angry and violated at the same time. 'A psyker - you are truly an abomination!'

'Now isn't that a nice thing to say to your ally?' Phelonas sounded amused. Amused! 'Without me you'd still be a pissant little nonentity. Your silly little sect would still be crawling in the dirt, destined never to rise. You'd have the nothingness you deserve.'

'How did you get here?' Tobias couldn't see him clearly enough but glowing red eyes, horns and a sword … now that would draw attention on the street!

Phelonas seemed to shrug. 'You're right. I am a psyker. A powerful one, if I may say so myself. I just walked down your pathetic little street. All anyone saw was a little old lady pushing a trolley. And anyway, even if anyone did see through my disguise – well, who's going to believe them?'

'But the cameras. The cameras must have seen you.'

'Cameras? Oh, who cares about them? The sort you use on this silly planet are easy to foil. Fixed-bearing tubes, rotating to aim their lenses – a narrow field of view. You just stay out of it. Or if not … well, there's a chance they might randomly fail. It's not even impossible, just unlikely. That makes it an easy sorcerous working, as these things go.'

'Sorcery,' Tobias breathed. The rain roared against the window. 'You're no Raven.' They may be unclean, they may be accursed – but even he'd never heard of Storm Ravens consorting with the fell powers.

'No. Did I ever say that I was?'

'You – you told me you'd been trained. That they gave you geneseed. That – that something went wrong!' The panic rose again.

'Yes, it did. I saw the truth. I don't think I was supposed to.' Phelonas was smug. 'You just assumed I meant the Storm Ravens. You never followed it up. Never asked questions. That's the problem with you people – none of you ask any questions. In fact, you think ignorance is a virtue. What a pathetic bunch of primates you are.'

'How dare you insult your kin?' growled Tobias. 'You're human too.'

'Oh no but I'm not. I haven't been human for a long time. Longer than you can imagine.'

'What do you want with me?'

A slate hurled itself out of the shadows. It landed at Tobias's feet. Dust puffed from the carpet.

'Have a look,' the voice said. 'Have a look at this local newspaper.'

Hesitantly, Tobias picked the slate up. He held it as if it were a poisonous snake, at arm's length.

'It won't bite,' Phelonas mocked. 'My blade may, if you try my patience.'

Tobias looked. The screen was on. It was the front page. The _Colvin Advertiser_. He frowned. Colvin – a small provincial city on the west coast. Its only point of note was an academy, for the children of Administratum Adepts and parents with cash. What had that got to do with anything?

'Have a look,' Phelonas said. There was an angry rasp in his voice. 'A knowledge of current affairs is vital in the modern age – don't you agree?'

Tobias realised the intruder's patience was wearing thin. His eyes tracked down to the page. He looked at the headline. LOCAL BOY MAKES GOOD it said. Typical regional newspaper skak, full of emotion but void of content. The front page was dominated by a photo. It was a portrait of a Raven, sans helmet. The marine looked boyish and unscarred. He was grinning but there was self-consciousness in his eyes. Tobias looked at the photo caption.

_Brother Alaster Karo, lately of Colvin Academy. pictured on the day of his ascension to the fratery. This is a copy of the holo received by his parents yesterday. We would like to thank Jagus and Malene Karo for making this available…_

The face looked familiar. Tobias rubbed at his neck with his free hand. He noted that he could still hear the rain outside. He looked again at the picture. He had seen it before somewhere.

'What is this?' he asked.

'On that slate.' There was no mistaking the anger in Phelonas's voice now. He sounded like he was about to lose control. 'There are three other front pages, just like that. Brothers Karo, Patreus and Shepherd. You may remember them. I wanted them discredited.'

Tobias's mind flashed back, to his last meeting in the crypt. 'But I pulled some strings. I got something sorted. I don't understand.'

'It seems you didn't control your underling well enough. He got a bit excited. He got some ideas of his own. He got the aspirants thrown out. But instead of letting nature – or the Nids – take its course, he tried to push things along. I can't imagine what he thought he'd gain. It seems he tried to lock them in an outpost. He must have thought the aliens would kill them. Unfortunately, he got caught red-handed. Worse yet, he set the scene for a heroic defence.' Phelonas's voice dripped with scorn. 'The aspirants regained their honour. They proved themselves worthy. They were accepted. As Storm Ravens. They. Joined. The. Chapter!'

Phelonas released an inchoate bellow of rage. Suddenly, a black blade leapt from the shadows. It smashed down into the breakfast bar, cleaving straight through it. Shards of granite sprayed out.

Tobias leapt backwards –

Straight into the wall. The windowsill jabbed him below the ribs, knocking his breath out. He sank to the floor, winded and shaking.

Phelonas managed to reassert some control. Less overtly homicidal, he spoke again. 'That's bad enough. But there's worse. Your agent was identified as an Originist agent. It seems the Ravens finally ran out of patience. Which shows, I suppose, just how weak this Compact makes them. If it were me in their place … well, you'd be hanging from trees by now. Or lamp posts – I suppose this is an urban world.

'Anyway, it seems they put the screws on your weakling leaders. I can't imagine it takes much to make your government squeak. And squeak they did – witness you here right now, cowering in fear of the police. Well, the police aren't your problem any longer. You see, I'm going to kill you.'

Tobias was terrified. 'I – I know stuff!' he squeaked. 'Contacts! Names! You need me!'

'No I don't.' Phelonas's tone suddenly became analytical. 'Your usefulness is over. The police will find your name soon enough. You're completely compromised. You clearly don't realise it, but you're a dead man walking. And given what you're like, you might just squeak yourself.'

'I am no coward!'

'And you just wet yourself.'

Tobias looked down. There was a spreading stain on his trousers. He hadn't even noticed! He realised he was crying. He could feel the tears sliding down his face.

'I've spent too much time here to have it unravel now,' Phelonas said. 'I've had to endure this foul planet for so long. I've had to tolerate its swarming, weakling humans! I've had to hold myself back a dozen times a day! I've had to resist the call of blood – even when it wanders inside arm's reach! Can you imagine what that's like? Can you? I dare you!'

'You're a monster.'

'You only just noticed? My, what a feat of deduction. You really are uniquely stupid, aren't you? Tell me – how do you cope with the truly difficult things in life?'

'What?' Tobias was confused.

'The difficult things. Like cutlery – or stairwells! That's what I should do. Before I kill you. I should make you run up and down some stairs. It could be so entertaining, watching you trip and fall.'

'If you kill me that'll draw attention.' Tobias swallowed. 'And you still need my knowledge. I'm more use alive.'

'No you're not. My blade needs to feed. You'll do.'

'What?' Tobias wondered if he actually wanted to know.

'You should take it as an honour, you know. Not everyone has the privilege to be fed to a daemon sword.'

A daemon -? Tobias's eyes widened. He felt fresh wetness around his crotch. The smell hit him, sour and unpleasant.

'The physical world is alien to the denizens of the Warp. Just are your ships can travel there, with difficulty, they can live here. For a while. But this world gnaws away at them. It tries to reimpose its rules. Particles and waves and electrical charges – all of that tired old nonsense. Eventually, it would succeed. The beast within my sword must continually fight back. It remains here through a continuous exertion of psychic energy. But that energy needs replacing. The material universe is so pesky with its insistent little conservation laws, don't you think? Anyway, the point is, it's lunchtime. And your soul will do quite nicely.'

'The people on the street! They'll see!' Tobias pointed frantically at the window above him.. It was his last ray of hope.

'No they won't.' By themselves, the curtains slid across the rail. Their hoops hissed on the rail as some telekinetic force pulled them. The grey rectangle of light narrowed and then closed off.

'No – you can't! You – you can't lose what I know!'

'I won't,' Phelonas assured him. 'You know that little problem the Ravens have? With the omophagea? Well, I am no Raven.'

Somewhere in the darkness, a monster was smiling.

Phelonas advanced on the terrified Tobias. As he stepped from the shadows, for the first and last time, Tobias saw the full form of the intruder. He began to scream.

His desolate wail didn't penetrate the walls of the detached house.

***

When he was done, Phelonas went to the kitchen. He used the abandoned pint glass, filling it with water from the tap. He took a deep sip and swilled it between his teeth. A few gargles and the foul taste in his mouth had receded. It was remarkable – that man had tasted every bit as oily as his manner.

The water finished, he put his horned helmet back on. No point walking around unprotected – that was asking for an accident.

When he was finished in the kitchen, Phelonas checked on his sword. The demon purred happily. It had been cranky recently, feeling the encroaching pangs of the surrounding continuum. Now it was sated, at least for a day or two. Phelonas wondered what he'd do next time. Daemon weapons were useful tools but they did have their limits. Oh well – he resolved to worry about that when he got there.

He checked the living room one final time. The carpet was a mess, near the window. Tobias had put up more of a fight than he'd expected – not that it'd done him much good. The room stank of blood and excrement and fear.

Phelonas made his way into the corridor. Next to the understairs loo was a small cabinet. It contained the electric and gas meters. Underneath the gas meter, next to the main pipe, Phelonas had rigged a little package. He checked on it, carefully. The explosives were set and the timer was ticking. In just under two hours, the house would meet with a terrible domestic accident.

A gas explosion – helped along just a little by a small bomb.

And, conveniently, the inferno would incinerate any remaining evidence. Phelonas was well-pleased with his forward planning. The police would get called, of course, and they'd have a sniff around – but it would explain the mysterious neighbour's disappearance. The police could sniff all they wanted. There would be nothing to find here.

He nodded to himself. Okay. Maybe – just maybe – things were starting to sort themselves out. Now that the weakling Tobias had been taken out of the equation – well, one less person to blab to the authorities about the weapon-caches.

Now there was one more thing to be taken care of.

Phelonas walked to the front door. He had to duck to get through it – thoroughly undignified, but there was no-one to see him step out. He hadn't told Tobias the entire truth about his arrival. Certainly, he could walk down the street in broad daylight, if there was no other way – but that was the last resort. The more people he met, the more minds he had to handle. There were limits – sooner or later someone would break free.

No, Phelonas had done something else entirely.

He took a couple of steps down the path. He looked down, satisfying himself that he was in the right place. Then he placed his hands together and uttered a Word of Power.

His body briefly made subtle, Phelonas sank through the earth.

Running directly beneath the city were a network of storm drains. Normally they were accessible only by a handful of carefully-guarded maintenance shafts. There were also drain pipes from the surface, but they were only a hand's breadth wide. The only other conceivable way in involved swimming twelve miles down a water-filled pipe that vented out into the sea. It was reasonable for Creekside's guardians not to post sentries within the network.

Phelonas, however, was not a reasonable man.

He sank through the earth in a matter of moments. The Word wore off, just in time for his booted feet to hit the floor of the pipe. The storm drain was huge – it was more then ten feet high. Plenty of room. It was also knee-deep in water and pitch black. Phelonas, however, was not limited to the tawdry human optical range. The drain was brighter in the infra-red.

Now it was just a matter of walking.

So that was what Phelonas did. He strode calmly and confidently through the darkness and the water. The splashing of his feet attracted no attention, beyond a few startled rats. After some time, Phelonas was stood directly below the police station in St Teelek's.

He took some time and positioned himself carefully. He had the plans memorised. It wouldn't do to interpenetrate a wall! Once he was sure he had things right, he clasped his hands and intoned a second Word. As he did he tensed his legs. The instant before speaking, he leapt.

Already in motion, with enhanced muscles and servos behind him, his spring carried his subtle form up, through the roof. Foot after foot of bedrock passed. His momentum slowed. For a moment, Phelonas thought he'd miscalculated. But no – it was just enough. He remained subtle just long enough for his spring to reach its zenith. He dropped an inch or so onto the floor of the store room he'd materialised inside.

Mops rattled around him in their buckets. Light leaked under the door before him. Phelonas reached for his other toy – the ancient bolter hung from his belt. He smiled. He had no intention of subtlety here!

He kicked the storeroom door open. An astonished janitor gawped at the horror springing from the closet. His grimace lasted only a moment. A bolt slammed into his ribcage, blowing it apart. Blood and shredded bone sprayed everywhere.

Over by the room's door, another man screamed.

Phelonas spun. The bolter roared again. The man was slammed against the wall. His dead remains slid to the floor. Phelonas took a quick glance around the cleaners' room. No-one else here.

He walked out into the space beyond. He didn't bother with any psychic illusion. The cleaners' room opened onto the main reception. Potted plants were dotted around. There was a big desk with a receptionist. There were a cluster of sofas over by the main door, in case of visitors. At the front was a wide panoramic window, of bulletproof glass. It was opaque from the outside – convenient for Phelonas's diabolical purposes. There were also lots of people in the reception.

Deliberately, Phelonas shot out the nearest security camera.

The gun roared in the confined space. Startled heads turned. Eyes widened in shock at what they saw. Several mouths parted to scream.

Phelonas shot the nearest person.

Stunned people stared, others dived for cover and some tried to run. It didn't do them any good. Phelonas's aim was true. He was faster than any of the runners. His bolter roared, rhythmically. Each bolt found a target. Body after body slammed into the floor or the furniture or the walls. Blood and viscera sprayed over the floor-tiles.

One woman, uniquely brave, grabbed a plastic chair that was set by the wall. She threw it at Phelonas with all the force she could muster.

Casually, he batted it aside. It landed with a clatter, over by the window.

Phelonas supposed a brave deed deserved some acknowledgement. 'But a nice try,' he told the gawping woman. He then shot her, neatly in the middle of her forehead.

A few more moments sufficed to despatch the last living soul in the reception. Phelonas mouthed another word of Power. The metal in the frames of the front doors flowed and melded, sealing them shut. That should stop anyone getting in, at least for a while.

It would also stop anyone getting out.

Phelonas was methodical. He travelled through the police station, shooting whenever he met anyone. He didn't mess around – however much a grizzly slaying might tempt him, he restricted himself to neat, execution-style kills. He had to reload his bolter twice. Finally he was satisfied that no-one but the target remained alive within the police station.

Hanging his bolter from his belt, Phelonas took a little time. He briefly visited the camera control centre. He opened up the casing of the central cogitator and briefly removed his helmet. He spat on the data drives. They hissed and fizzed with acid, destroyed on a chemical level. No-one would be watching the camera records of his little excursion.

After that, he dragged all the bodies to the same place, the boiler room. He dumped them in a rough, bloody mound next to the big gas boiler. He looked contemptuously at the seal of the Adeptus Mechanicus, inscribed on the device. Then he rigged up a repeat of his previous bomb around the main gas pipe. That should deal with the corpses quite nicely, he reckoned. The police would know something had happened here – but without videos or intact corpses, they'd have a hard time reconstructing what exactly. And with any luck, his target's escape would be overlooked.

Phelonas was feeling energised, almost rejuvenated. The little murder-spree had done him good. He had worked some of the tension out of his system. For months now, he'd had to restrain himself. But what, he supposed, was the point of being a killer if you couldn't kill?

He tied the last component into the bomb. This one was different. It was keyed to go off on a comm-net signal. He would send it when he was ready.

Now, time to collect the prize.

He made his way to the cell-blocks. Today, they only had one occupant – a prison important enough to need confining on her own.

Janessa was stood in her cell, ear pressed up to the door. For the last half hour, she'd heard some strange noises. Distant roars, like a gun going off. Screaming. The sounds of terrified people, running back and forth. She'd listened to it all with a deepening sense of horror. Something was very wrong here – she could practically taste in the air.

The air. She sniffed it again. There was a definite smell of blood and excrement. It was faint but unmistakeable. Somewhere beyond the walls of this cell, violence was happening.

Defiantly, Janessa stood in the middle, arms crossed. If death came for her today, the Hierarch decided, she would face it bravely. Janessa felt secure in her faith – it did give her a sense of courage. She crossed her arms. She looked over the cell, trying to take in the details to calm herself. She looked at the tiling on the walls and the floor, painted an antiseptic cream. She looked at the narrow, mattress-less bunkbed. She looked at the barebones toilet, all cold metal.

Someone rapped at the door.

She stared at the cell door. 'Who's there?' Her voice managed not to shake.

'Hierarch Janessa – my name is Phelonas.'

She stared at the door. Phelonas! The calm, erudite voice – just as Tobias had described! 'What do you want? Where is Tobias?'

'He's dead,' the voice said. 'They found him. Your enemy, I mean.'

'The police?' she croaked. Janessa could feel her composure weakening. Tobias – dead? They'd had their differences but he'd been her right-hand man. In her own way, she'd even liked him, a little.

'They came for him,' Phelonas explained. 'I – it was a savage killing, I'm afraid. Then your enemy bombed his place of refuge, to cover their tracks.'

'Cowardly!'

There was a pause. Then: 'Yes, quite.' Was there just a hint of insincerity? Janessa's instincts screamed at her to flee this place. Unfortunately, the cell walls bound her to this spot. 'Hierarch, they wish you dead. You are instrumental to the Day of Reckoning. You alone know where all of the arms caches are. You must escape from this place. Please allow me to help you.'

'You're a mutant,' she growled. 'I can't trust you!'

'You can't trust the police either,' the mellifluous voice assured her. 'Now please turn around and face the wall. I'm going to enter the cell. It's best that you don't see me. My deviations – your reaction to them… well, it would make it hard for us to work together.'

'Father Inyre,' she said. There was something hypnotic in his voice but she resisted. 'What did you do to Father Inyre?'

'What?' Phelonas sounded surprised.

'The priest at St Teelek's. The one who fed you. He vanished some time ago. What did you do to him?'

'Him? Nothing.' Phelonas sounded genuinely surprised. 'I never harmed a hair on his head.'

'You abandoned the crypt. Tobias couldn't find you.'

'Well yes. After the priest stopped bringing me food-parcels, I got a bit peckish. What else was I supposed to do? Starve?'

'You took all the equipment.'

'And under the terms of my agreement with Tobias, it all belonged to me anyway. So what? Look, I didn't do anything to this parish priest of yours. I have no idea where the silly man went – or why. Find him yourself, if you're that bothered. Now – please turn around.'

There was something compelling in Phelonas's tone. Without volition, Janessa's feet turned her to face the wall. Doggedly, she stared at it, trying to bore a hole in it with her eyes.

From behind her, she heard a groan of tortured metal. She heard the door give way with a pained scraping sound. There was silence. Then she heard booted feet, clicking on the tiling.

They walked up to her.

'I'm going to blindfold you,' Phelonas explained. 'You do not want to see me – and I don't want you to see me.'

A black band descended into her vision, blocking the world out. She felt hands tie it behind her head.

'This is bizarre,' she said.

'This is for your own protection,' the voice assured her.

Weirdly enough, it was probably true. If Janessa had seen what was stood barely two feet away from her, she'd probably have had a nervous breakdown.

A hand closed on her shoulder. She could feel the sharp edges of some sort of gauntlet, digging through the fabric of her blouse. 'I thought you were crippled,' she said.

'It depends on what you mean by that word,' Phelonas mused. 'Emotionally, I suppose yes I am. In a way. Anyway, I'm going to take you from this place. The journey will be somewhat strange but please bear with me. You will come to no harm.'

Phelonas pushed her forward, on a strange twisting journey. She was led through corridors and up and down stairs. Finally she found herself stood in what she suspected was a small, cramped space. She could feel a bucket against her shin. Something told her that Phelonas was close by – very close by. If she just reached out…

She resisted, fighting back the urge. Something told her it would be a bad idea.

'Now what?' she asked.

'It gets cold and wet,' Phelonas told her. He sent the vox signal to the bomb. It began its short countdown.

Then, he spoke a Word.


	21. Chapter 21 A Raven's Oath

Alaster, Patreus and Nasty were stood in the Ravenholme's central cathedral. The pre-dawn glow lit the high stained-glass windows. They were at the top of the central spire here – the view was amazing. Before them was the altar. No lesser a figure than Chaplain Fellack waited in front of it.

Today was important. Today the new Space Marines would swear their vows to the Chapter. The three had been back on Delta less than a day. They'd spent the last three months at the Chapter's training facilities on Eta. Being less densely populated than Delta, but with a wider range of environments than Gamma, Eta provided the better location for final training. Kodos had told them there were fewer innocent bystanders to for them to accidentally shoot. Three months hadn't sounded like much time but it had been three months of nothing but training. The new assault squad literally hadn't slept in that time.

They'd arrived back at the Ravenholme mid-afternoon yesterday. The squad had been assigned its dormitory, five small bedrooms adjoining onto a central chamber. None of the rooms had doors and they didn't contain much more then a bed, a washbasin, and racks for weapons and armour. There was a communal bathroom down the corridor. It was all quite Spartan. Patreus had been delighted.

By contrast, Kodos had his own room. With its own small bathroom. Apparently rank had its privileges.

After arriving back, to the brothers' surprise, they'd been let off. By long-standing tradition, the Storm Ravens' initiation ceremony always took place at dawn. Returning Thunderhawks tended to land around mid-afternoon, taking advantage of stable air conditions and relatively-quiet domestic air traffic. Since there was nothing for the recruits to do until the next day, and since Octalian soldiers had the tradition of a 'long weekend' at the end of their training, the new marines got a 'long afternoon'. To Alaster's surprise, Kodos had told them to go and get drunk. Patreus had seemed uneasy with this but Kodos had settled his mind by pointing out that this was the last free time they'd have in a while.

Their consciences appeased – not that it took much in Nasty's case – the three had gone to one of the Ravenholme's bars. It was run by one of the Chapter serfs and its main clientele were other serfs – but it didn't charge marines anything. That was just as well, as Alaster had realised he hadn't carried any money for months. The three had spent the rest of the afternoon drinking the bar dry. Alaster had been startled to see how much better his enhanced liver was. They'd only finished an hour ago and he was sober again already. He had no trace of a hangover.

Now they were here, waiting to swear their oaths.

The cathedral was big enough to hold the entire army. With so many Ravens out on deployment it felt half-empty. Kodos had rounded up all the Ravens he could find for the ceremony, which came to a little over a hundred. It was strange to think that a hundred marines could ever be dwarfed by their surroundings and yet it seemed to be the case.

Alaster was stood with the others before the altar. Steps rose in front of them. The altar was on a platform, raised above the floor. On its side was carved the Imperial eagle. Alaster couldn't shake the feeling its two heads were watching them. Atop it, sat on special mounts were two of the Chapter's treasured relics. One was a savage-looking power axe, said to have once been wielded by Russ himself. Even with occasional replacements, its haft had been worn smooth by generations of reverential grasping hands. Next to the axe sat another mount, with a smaller but no less holy object on it. It was a fan assembly, held to come from Corax's own jump pack. It too had been lovingly tended over many centuries, carefully polished and repaired as bits gradually aged.

Alaster thought it was an appropriate display. It honoured the Chapter's two true Primarchs, whose sons had aided the first Ravens in their hour of need. In this most sacred of places, Guilliman and his foolish successors didn't deserve a mention. After his experiences with Metelleus, Alaster felt that only fair.

Fellack stepped up to the altar. He raised his crozius and struck the polished marble with its haft. The sound brought the ceremony to order. Kodos had instructed the squad carefully and somewhat-patiently earlier that morning. Knowing what to do, Alaster dropped to one knee, placing his weapons parallel on the floor before him. Pistol pointing left, chainsword pointing right, blade away from him and toward the enemy. Or Fellack, as the case maybe. He set his helmet beside them.

Fellack walked in front of the altar. Carefully, reverentially, he placed the crozius on the altar. His ceramite boots were loud on the polished stone. He stopped. The room was eerily quiet. Alaster could hear his own breathing and that of his brothers'. Other then that the silence was absolute. For all the sound they made, the arrayed Ravens behind them may as well have not been there.

Fellack picked up a book from the altar, a leather-bound copy of the Imperial testaments. Alaster could smell the paper, the glue and the ink even from down here – his new nose continued to amaze him. Fellack held the book in one hand. He stretched the other out in benediction.

'Brothers,' he began. The glow outside was brightening, Alaster noticed. 'We are gathered here today in the Emperor's name. We are gathered here to witness the elevation of these new warriors as they join us, the Emperor's Chosen. This day they will swear their oaths, before the Immortal Emperor Himself and in the presence of our founders.' He gestured toward the relics. 'We will pray together to seek the blessings of Russ and Corax.'

Fellack led the assembled Ravens in one of the Litanies of Faith. Alaster and the others remained silent – it wasn't yet their place to speak.

The prayer over, Fellack walked forward, standing before Alaster. 'Initiate Karo, do you solemnly swear to uphold the honour of the Storm Ravens?'

Alaster was surprised by how steady his voice was. 'I do, my lord.' For an instant, he was reminded of the formula phrases uttered at weddings. Briefly, the proceedings felt absurd. He had a bizarre urge to laugh. One look at Fellack's face stilled it. This was serious business.

'Do you swear to obey all lawful orders, without hesitation or demurral?'

'I do, my lord.'

'Do you swear to stand by your brother Space Marines, whatever the consequences?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Do you swear to know no fear?'

'Yes, my lord.' Candidly, Alaster admitted to himself that it probably wasn't quite that simple. Still, never mind.

'Do you swear never to harbour or aid the enemies of Humanity?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Do you swear to never conceal the truth from your lords and commanders, no matter how embarrassing?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Do you swear to uphold the lordship of the Emperor and the dominion of Humanity, even at the cost of your own life?'

This was the critical oath. 'I do, my lord.'

Fellack's free hand lashed out. Pain flared as Alaster's head was spun round. He felt the hand as it connected with the bone of his skull. The impact reverberated around his head. The hand swung away. Alaster could feel the imprint of the gauntlet. He could feel four little trickles of hot blood – the knuckledusters built into the ceramite. They'd drawn blood. His ears were ringing – he had to fight the urge to shake his head.

As instructed, Alaster turned his head back, looking at the ground in front of Fellack's feet.

Fellack had drawn his combat knife. Ceremonially, he touched it to Alaster's right shoulder pad. Then he raised the blade and rested it flat on Alaster's head. 'From now on,' he said, 'you need never accept another blow without retaliation. Any who strike against you will feel your wrath and that of Him on Terra.' He raised the knife and tapped it against Alaster's left shoulder pad. 'The God-Emperor accepts your oaths. Arise, Brother Karo.' He withdrew the knife.

The blood pinpricks were receding already. Alaster knew he'd have a bruise for a while – the final strike had to be hard. It wasn't respectful to be gentle– the blow was symbolic. It showed that the Chapter accepted the new brother had the strength to be one of them. To receive it was an honour – although a painful one. Alaster was glad he hadn't sworn to feel no pain. He'd already be an oathbreaker!

There was one final thing to do. Alaster picked up his helmet. He put it on, making sure the neck-ring locked properly. He picked up his gun and his sword and stood, holding them crossed over the eagle on his breastplate. This was another ritual gesture – Kodos had told them it was to symbolise the new brother-marine's determination to fight to defend the Empire.

Alaster stood to attention as Fellack moved on. He noticed there was a distinct rosy glow beyond the stained glass now. Sunrise was fast approaching.

The ceremony was repeated for each of the five new Storm Ravens, until all five were stood to attention with pistol and chainsword. As Kodos finished swearing in Sandrer, the sun rose. Bright, pinkish light streamed into the cathedral.

The assembled Ravens burst into thunderous applause, breaking their disciplined silence.

Fellack stepped down from the dais. He was stood in front of the new Ravens. He gestured to the altar. 'You may touch the relics, Brothers,' he said.

Inside his helmet, Alaster blinked. There was an undertone to the man's voice. Fellack sounded – emotional! Well, Alaster supposed, the initiation of new members was a big day for the Chapter as well.

He walked up the steps, to the altar. The other Ravens followed him. The squad gathered around the altar. Sunlight was streaming across its polished face. Tentatively, he reached out to the axe. His fingers brushed the haft. Alaster felt a sense of awe, to be in the presence of such an ancient weapon. A surviving relic, from the first days of the Imperium!

'Wow,' he breathed, his hand sliding back.

He heard Nasty mutter, 'I doubt there's an original part in it.' Then, to Alaster's disbelief, Nasty reached out and picked it up! 'Mind you,' Nasty added, hefting the weapon, 'it feels like it's got a good swing on it.'

Patreus was making choking noises. 'Nasty! That's a relic of the Primarchs themselves! Show some respect, for the Throne's sake!'

One of the other helmets was pointed at Alaster. For a second he was confused by its blue-black ceramite scowl, identical to its neighbours. Then he remembered to look at the name on the collar. BROTHER SANDRER. 'Are those two always like this?' Sandrer asked.

'Most of the time,' Alaster agreed.

He glanced back. In spite of his protestations, it seemed the urge to handle the axe had been too much for Patreus. He was gripping it reverentially in his gauntleted hands. He turned it over, watching the light gleam on the polished blade.

Nasty was looking at the jump pack fragment. Something about his stance suggested he was underwhelmed.

A few minutes later, when they were done with the relics, Alaster and others signed their names into the Chapter's roll of honour. A brief handshake with Fellack and they found themselves stood in the atrium to the cathedral.

Kodos and Brother-Corporal Eorvan strode over. During the ceremony, they'd been watching from the front pew.

''Bout time you lot were finished,' Kodos growled. 'Follow me. We're due at Pad Sixteen in – oh – ten minutes.' He and Eorvan started walking. The brothers fell in behind them. Boots grated on the paving.

'Where are we going, Sergeant?' As usual, Nasty asked the questions. Sixteen was one of the Thunderhawk pads.

'Back to Riothria,' Kodos said. 'We're joining the _Nevermore_ from the Thunderhawk – assuming you ladies don't make us late, of course. We'll be in the Warp before that sets.' They were just passing a window; Kodos pointed at the sun. The star Octalia was framed perfectly, hovering just barely above the horizon. They were looking out toward the sea. Octalia's reddish dawn light was reflected from the water below, a glittering band pointing straight for them.

'We're going already?' Sandrer asked.

'Oh I'm sorry,' Kodos snarked. 'I didn't know you had other plans. Yes, of course we're going. It's about time you lot started earning your keep.'

Alaster glanced back toward the sun. The light was spilling through the window, shining off the polished corridor floor. Briefly, Alaster wondered when he'd see it again.


	22. Chapter 22 Return to Riothria

Alaster landed on the floor with a thump. The decking vibrated under him. He spaced his feet slightly apart, one pointed forward. He held the chainsword in front of him, one hand wrapped around the hilt, the other hand gripping the blade housing. The blade itself faced upwards, lamplight gleaming on the teeth. He paused, with the tip pointed toward his opponent and downward. The stance was called 'Iron Door' – Alaster had no idea how it had got the name. He'd been surprised to learn they all had them.

Nasty leapt toward him. Alaster caught a brief reflection of himself in Nasty's eye lenses. One ceramite scowl met by another. Iron Door was a risky stance – with your blade to one side, it invited attack. Alaster tried to keep his breathing even. It wasn't that easy inside the helmet. His head felt constricted – there was an urge to gasp. He could smell the dry air coming through the respirator – it had a whiff of rubber and metal.

Nasty was closer. Alaster tensed in readiness. He tried not to break Iron Door. Nasty had his blade raised, one hand under the guard, one hand clutched over it. He was going for Half-Arrow – again. He was obsessed with that stance.

Nasty jerked his blade up. It was high – the shadow fell across Alaster's helmet. Nasty swung it down-

Alaster ducked underneath his arm. Gripping on the casing, he levered his blade up. Nasty's was still falling. His chest was exposed. Alaster slammed his weapon forward. He angled the tip in. He drove it toward the narrow gap between Nasty's shoulder pad and his breastplate.

The tip hit-

Something slammed into Alaster's backpack. He was knocked forward. Even as he stumbled he forced the tip of his blade down, pushing. Meanwhile, Nasty was trying to force his off of Alaster's backpack, where it had lodged.

Alaster felt his boots loose grip on the floor. He stumbled, falling into Nasty. Nsty stumbled. They went flying. Pain flared in Alaster's wrist. His hand opened, spasmodically.

Nasty fell backwards onto the floor. An instant later Alaster slammed down on top of him. Alaster rolled off. Too fast! The wall loomed. His mouth moved to swear-

Alaster felt his head crack into the bulkhead wall.

The impact padding inside his helmet absorbed the force. Thank the Emperor for helmets! The wall was just in front of his eyes – back when he was human, he wouldn't have been able to focus on it from this close. Now he could see every dent and scuff-mark on the plating.

He pushed himself to a sitting position. Nasty had sat up too. Neither of the two Ravens was injured – their blades were training tools only, not battlefield weapons. The teeth weren't sharp and they only spun slowly. Enough to duplicate the sensation of a real chainsword, but not to break through ceramite.

'Oww,' Nasty grumbled. 'Hey, you skakker! You've scuffed my eagle! I only polished that this morning!' He pointed at the offending mark on his breastplate.

'Well it serves you right for falling over,' Alaster groused, good-naturedly.

They had after all only been training, not actually fighting each other.

Both swords had been wrecked by the encounter. The bits of Alaster's were scattered nearby. Rubbing his wrist, he saw why it hurt. The practice-blade had shattered when they fell. The forces exerted on it had broken it into two big chunks and lots of splinters. The shock had reverberated back down the blade, into his bones. The teeth had been ripped off of the slow chain-blade. The tooth-chain lay twisted and broken to one side.

Nasty's sword was still intact but it was bent out of shape. It lay nearby.

A shadow grew on the court's floor. Two very familiar boots stomped into view.

'Get up,' Kodos growled. 'Look at the pair of you! Call yourselves Ravens?'

By now Alaster was completely inured to the familiar abuse. He barely even heard Kodos's ranting as he stood up. Nasty got to his feet beside Alaster. They both looked respectfully at the sergeant.

The three Space Marines were stood in one of the Nevermore's training rooms. It was a large, high-ceilinged space, intended for close combat training. Banks of lamps overhead filled the room with a bright light. One wall was dominated with a big Imperial eagle. It had a few marks, where stray blade-strokes had damaged it.

'I won,' Nasty said smugly.

'No you didn't - I had you on the floor!' Alaster returned. The adrenaline was still flowing in his system. He wanted a rematch.

'Yes I did – I hit you over the head!'

'You got my backpack, not my head-'

'Shut up, the pair of you,' Kodos said.

They shut.

'You both made the same mistakes as before,' Kodos told them. 'You-' he pointed at Nasty '-were over-relying on sheer physical force. You got the stance wrong too. You don't take Half-Arrow like that. You never raise the blade above your head. You leave your gut open that way – as Karo tried to show you. You do Half-Arrow at a diagonal. That way you've always got something before your chest. If you don't you get a blade in the bowels. And incidentally, when you strike, you don't hack away randomly at your foe. Target weak points in their armour – like Karo tried to do. You'll get results much faster. One stroke, one kill. That's how Storm Ravens do things. The storm doesn't mess around and nor do we.

'As for you-' he pointed at Alaster '-you still have the opposite problem. You're standing around too much, doing too much calculating. You're trying to be too clever. While you busy posing, Shepherd here was clubbing you over the head. Main force matters too. Yes, he missed your head – but if he hadn't, that blow could've put you down. You can't be clever when you're stunned senseless. You should've made your move when he took the bait. That's the point of Iron Door – invite an attack, get to strike when you choose. If Shepherd hadn't missed your dithering there – well, you can't count on the enemy to be as thick as him.' He jerked a thumb at Nasty. Nasty was balling his fists – unlike Alaster, Kodos still managed to get to him every now and then.

Kodos kicked a bit of dead training-blade out of his way. 'Okay. You two go to the gallery and watch. I'm taking on Patreus next. He's turning into an okay swordsman. Pay attention – you might learn something.'

Alaster and Nasty walked off of the training court. They climbed a ship's ladder up to the grandly-named viewing gallery. It was a platform with some seats, three metres above the floor. It had a good view over the court. There was a low wall at the edge of it – low to Astartes, Alaster reminded himself. A normal human stood here would be up to his armpits.

Alaster and Nasty ignored the seats. They stood just behind the barrier. Automatically Alaster parked himself up against the corner with the side wall, backpack flat against the plating, where he could cover as much of the space as possible with his pistol. Here no-one could jump him from behind. Nasty had taken up position where he could watch the entrance hatch without being seen through it. These simple, basic manoeuvres had been drilled into them so many times that they'd become second nature. Sneaking up on a Space Marine wasn't easy. Sneaking up on two should be impossible.

Down below, the sergeant and Patreus were facing each other. Both of them held a training blade. Formally, they bowed to each other, then dropped into their fighting stances. Patreus was in Second Arrow, Alaster noted, the blade extended in front of him, keeping maximum distance between him and his opponent. It was typical Patreus – let Kodos strike first, then try and sabotage it.

Nasty slid off his helmet. Sensing that his brother wanted a private conversation, Alaster did the same. His nostrils were assaulted by the smells of the training chamber. Sweat, floor polish and the oil for the weak chain-blades. The helmet comms were as annoying as they were useful - Kodos could listen in on any of the marines' chatter. They'd discovered this to their cost during the training on Eta.

'This is harder then it looks, isn't it?' Nasty said. He spoke quietly but Alaster heard him.

Alaster nodded. 'It's not like in films, is it?'

'No. They just hack each other apart. Easy as you like.' Nasty mimed a typical film-stunt, over-the-head stroke. It was as dramatic as you got, the blade held in both hands and raised as far as it could be. It was also pretty stupid – doing that would leave you even more open than Nasty's botched Half-Arrow. Do that in a real fight and you'd just die.

Alaster tapped his breastplate. 'If that actually worked, there wouldn't be much point wearing all this, would there?'

'Apart from annoying Guardsmen, you mean?'

Down below there was a clatter of swords. Kodos had struck, only to be deflected by Patreus. Patreus had sprung to one side, bringing in an attack of his own. Kodos had countered it – and nearly put his blade in Patreus's throat. His first stroke had been a deliberate feint, aimed to elicit that very response. Patreus had only just seen the counter-stroke coming. Both marines were fast as lightning, striking and dodging and striking again.

All a normal human would have seen were two blue-black blurs.

'How long till we get to Riothria?'

'We should be there soon. This is – what? – our twentieth day in the Warp?'

There was another clatter as Kodos and Patreus struck again. Watching it, Alaster realised something. That first day on Delta – it hadn't seemed like it at the time, but he saw now that Kodos had gone easy on them. If he'd hit them half as hard as this – well, they'd have just died. Literally. Even now it was all any of them could do to hold the sergeant off.

'I thought it took longer last time.'

'I don't think it's absolutely predictable.' Inside his armour, Alaster tried not to shiver. The Warp was an intimidating prospect at the best of times. Being in it – well, he considered himself a modern individual, but it stirred a superstitious core. Deep down, he knew it wasn't quite right.

A deafening, repeating howl filled the chamber.

'Oww!' Alaster quickly slammed his helmet back on. Thankfully, the audio circuit quickly reduced the volume. Thanks to the wonder that was the black carapace, Alaster didn't even have to consciously think the instructions.

The alert klaxon changed. A voice spoke over the tannoy. 'All personnel please report to jump stations. Warp transition imminent. Out.' The tannoy clicked off, replacing the warning howl with silence.

'Well,' Kodos's voice spoke in Alaster's ears, 'that's us told. To your stations, Brothers!'

*

The marines gathered on the bridge to await re-entry to secular space. They'd be deploying to the planet shortly after. In the meantime, it was polite to show the human crew respect for their hard work, hence their presence. The bridge was a circular area with the captain's throne in the centre. The Navigators' immersion cradles were lined up behind it, all three of them. They were smooth black ovoids about two metres high, surrounded by pipes and cables and control panels with blinking lights. The Navigators were cocooned inside, plugged directly into the ship's systems. Consciously, Alaster knew it was no more bizarre than his own black carapace. However, there was something creepy about those shiny ovoids. They almost seemed like staring eyes. He had to remind himself not to grip his bolt pistol.

The rest of the bridge was a mass of consoles and lights. Crew were sat at their stations, listening to reports over headsets, typing out instructions and monitoring screens. The room was filled with the sounds of a busy ship, air vents sighing in and out, keypads clicking and the shush-shush people talking quietly. The crew were tense ahead of their upcoming mission but the atmosphere remained professional. Alaster was impressed by their discipline.

The far side of the bridge was dominated by a massive viewscreen. Normally it displayed various camera-images of the space outside the ship. Now, it displayed a galaxy map with the ship's projected position marked out on it. The green line had almost intersected the dot labelled as the 'RIOTHRIAN SYSTEM'.

The Nevermore had its own duties. Once it had deposited its cargo of genetically-engineered infantry, it would be joining the orbital cordon over Minoris. Astropathed reports had desribed fierce fighting over the planet. Apparently more Nid craft had arrived in the system. If the Imperial forces lost control over low orbit – well, Alaster was praying that they didn't. It would complicate the Ravens' efforts.

'What actually is our mission?' Patreus asked Alaster quietly. Their voices were low, so the crew couldn't overhear them, and they were talking with the helmet microphones off. They were stood behind the cradles.

Alaster glanced at Kodos's back. The squad leader was talking to the captain, standing at ease next to her chair. Kodos wasn't paying them any attention.

'I don't know,' Alaster admitted. 'I'm guessing it involves hitting Nids.'

'I wouldn't bet against you there,' Patreus said diplomatically.

'How are you feeling?'

'Excited.' Patreus shifted his feet, seemingly a little embarrassed. With the air of a grave confession, he added, 'Maybe a bit nervous.'

'The Nids don't worry you, do they?' It wasn't really a question.

Patreus sounded surprised, even offended. 'No! I'm not frightened of some xeno scum! I – no, I'm just worried about skakking up, that's all.'

So that's what this was about. Alaster nodded. 'I think we all are,' he said. 'This is the end of a long road. We're about to go into battle as Space Marines – for the first time in our lives.' Possibly the last time too. 'Of course you're feeling a bit twitchy.'

'You're right – but I still, I don't know, feel off.' Patreus ground his hands together. The ceramite gauntlets scraped audibly. A couple of crewmen looked their way.

'Don't do that,' Alaster said quickly. 'People are staring!'

'Oh. Sorry.' Patreus dropped his hands to his sides. 'I keep forgetting about that. They keep looking at us!'

'Patreus. I think that's what you're bothered about. Since we got on this ship we've had everyone staring at us. All the crew – to them we're the amazing and awe-inspiring Space Marines. We're the superhuman warriors whose bravery lets them sleep safely in their beds at night. Only, thing is, to us we're still just, you know, us.'

'I feel like a fraud,' Patreus admitted. 'All these people looking at me with all that respect – and my shoulders are blank!'

It was true. Alaster had also become uncomfortably aware of the blank grey trim on his shoulder pads. It didn't have even one campaign name! 'We're still thinking like aspirants,' Alaster said. 'We've got used to being the bottom of the pile – too used.' It was strange, having people looking up to them. Alaster had found he needed to watch his mouth carefully around the crew. Anything the mighty Astartes said got heard – and the Emperor forbid that the Ravens of all people should show any doubt! If they did, it'd spread through the crew like a wildfire.

'But we're still sort of the bottom,' Patreus said. 'You know, blank trim?'

'And that's what's important about this deployment,' Alaster said. 'We finally get to show what we can do. After this, we'll all have FAFNIR on our shoulders. No-one's going to look at us doubtfully again. I mean, really, what are we worrying about? We took on the mob on Gamma with bare fists. We faced Eldar scum with just pistols – not even chainswords or power armour! And we fought the Nids at Snake – we can do it again. And anyway, the bottom is relative. We're still Storm Ravens, Brother.'

'But what if things do go … wrong?'

Patreus was clearly still feeling uncomfortable. Alaster understood entirely. They were brave, they were confident – but they were also about to walk into a full-scale war. They'd been in battles here and there before, a few times, but an actual war was a sobering prospect. It was beginning to dawn on Alaster and the others that a lot rested on what they would do down there on the planet. 'If they do, well – then we die on our feet, like Ravens! But that is an if. Our leaders are good. I have faith in Kodos over there.'

'You're right.' Patreus sounded brighter. 'But I do still have this horrible feeling that something will go wrong.'

'Of course something will. No battle plan survives contact with the enemy, remember? But we'll manage when it does. And it's not like there are any Originists plotting against us now!'

'Aren't there?'

'Didn't you hear? Oh, hang on, you were in the gym all day last Septday, weren't you? I guess you didn't, then.'

'What's happened?' Patreus's helmet looked angry but the angle he'd tipped it at suggested curiosity.

'Something the sergeant mentioned. Apparently what happened at the outpost – well, it knocked some sense into people back home. Kodos said the sect's been banned.'

'Thank the Emperor for that.'

'Apparently they're going over the vetting of all the Guard regiments. To make sure there aren't any more saboteurs lurking around. So we should be okay on that.'

'No more Originist problems.' Patreus sighed loudly. 'Well I only hope it gets those poor souls back to the rightful Church.'

'Well I think – heads up, Kodos is looking this way!'

The sergeant had finished his conversation with the captain. Kodos turned round and walked over. 'Form up, you lot!' he growled quietly. The brothers fell into a neat line. 'We're coming out of the Warp in a few minutes. The ship's going to come out close to Minoris. We won't be staying with it. We'll be taking a Thunderhawk down to the main encampment. From there, we'll be deployed-'

'Three minutes to Warp exit!' The captain spoke loudly. Heads on the bridge turned, briefly acknowledging her announcement.

'-and you lot will finally get to do some fighting,' Kodos continued. 'Try and look like you're ready for it!'

The minutes ticked down slowly. Alaster found himself watching the timer on the main viewscreen. He felt tense, although he knew nothing would happen for at least a while yet.

The timer ticked down to 00:00:00.0.

'Realspace re-entry begun,' someone reported. 'Warp field at sixty point oh millitheres. Coils spinnning up.'

Alaster became aware of a whine. The sound rose rapidly. He could feel the deck vibrating under his feet. Inside his helmet, he frowned. It hadn't done this last time!

'What's going on?' the captain demanded. She looked concerned. His suspicion was confused. Apparently this was unusual. 'What's that sound?'

One of the console operators was looking at her screen. The sound was getting louder. 'Ma'am, the Navigators are reporting some sort of disturbance. It – oh skak! There's an external Warp field. A negative potential curve – it's damping the engines!'

'The Shadow in the Warp.' Kodos's voice spoke in Alaster's ears. He was on the vox, not speaking aloud. 'It's doing something to the Warp drive. Things must be worse than we thought. Don't tell the crew – but there must be a lot more Nids in the system!'

The whine was louder now.

The captain had pulled up one of the Tech-Priests in Engineering on the viewscreen. 'Enginseer Darius – why are we still in the Warp?'

She had to shout to be heard. The whine had risen to a painful level. The floor was shaking as if in an earthquake now. Some of the crew were clutching at their ears, faces grimacing. Alaster's helmet had begun filtering out the sound.

Darius somehow managed to make himself heard. 'We're working on it, Captain! A few more moments!'

The decking bucked under them. A pained groan rose from somewhere in the ship.

'That sounds like metal fatigue!' the captain shouted. 'You'd better get a move on!'

The crew were starting to look scared now.

'Metal fatigue, Sergeant?' Sandrer asked over the vox.

Kodos sighed. 'You've all got your helmets on, right? And they're all sealed? Well you might want to if you haven't. That groan was the skakking hull. It's stressed – I guess it must be the skakked-up Warp field. If it gets pulled too much it might get torn open.'

'But Sergeant – we're still in the Warp!'

'Yes Brother, I had noticed that.'

Alaster felt an unwelcome spike of frustration. The ship breaking up in the Warp? That wasn't good! If that happened they'd never get to Riothria.

The captain pulled a lever on her armest. Lights flashed across the viewscreen. Then, for a moment, there was quiet.

'Warp field aborted,' one of the crew reported. 'Ship-exerted flux, zero millitheres.'

Enginseer Darius flashed back up on the screen. 'Captain, what just happened?'

'I cut the power, Darius,' she replied grimly. 'You heard that last groan.'

'Yes, I did,' the Tech-Priest agreed. 'The stresses were building.'

'Yes, they were. So what is your recommendation? I don't want us to be just sat here.' She tapped a cable running from her head to a port in the chair. 'And the Navigators are yelling at me.'

'We need to exit quickly,' Darius said. 'The longer transition takes, the longer structural stresses have to accumulate. More energy will help. I'd suggest a ship-field of one hundred and twenty millitheres.'

The captain frowned. 'And how are we going to power this?'

'We'll spike the plasma reactors,' the Tech-Priest replied.

'Is that dangerous? Will the Machine Spirits be angered?'

'Not if it's brief. I'm sure they don't want to be stranded in the Warp either. We shouldn't need more than thirty seconds' flashover.'

'Okay,' the captain said, 'we'll try again. I'm setting the field to one two zero, this time. Let's try cranking up the power.' She hit some buttons on a touchpad.

'Uh oh,' Sandrer said over the vox.

'Okay Brothers – find something and hold onto it,' Kodos told them.

There was a strut running from floor to ceiling, in front of Alaster. It was open on one side, filled with a mass of cables. He reached out and grabbed it, getting a firm grasp with both hands. The other Ravens found other things to hold onto.

'Counting down,' one of the crew reported. 'Five. Four. Three.'

The lights dimmed.

'Two.'

The viewscreen flickered. It blanked as power was diverted.

'One.'

The ship screamed.

Alaster was slammed forward. He smacked into the strut. It connected with his head with a crack. He bounced off – and up. The deck fell away. He waved his ams uselessly. Gravity had vanished! The gravity generators must be down!

The lights dimmed again. They went out. For a moment the room was dark.

Klaxons were howling. Red lights flashed on control panels. Pinkish-red back-up light panels flickered into life. These emergency lights were the only illumination. The bridge now held a reddish gloom, instrument banks looming like dark shadows. The situation was pandemonium. People were shouting and screaming. Some crew had been knocked free from their seats. They floated around helplessly. One woman was trying to swim through the air, back to her station. She wasn't having much luck.

A spilled cup of coffee drifted past Alaster's face, accompanied by a plume of steaming droplets. They were backlit by a nearby emergency panel.

'We have exit!' the captain shouted. 'We're out of the Warp! Darius, where's our gravity?'

Alaster was drifting toward the ceiling. There was a metal loop hanging down from it. He reached out and snagged the handhold. He clung on. He figured he was better off staying up here, out of the way, until everything was back in order. He looked around. The other Ravens were scattered around. Fegust and Sandrer had joined Alaster at the ceiling. The others had managed to hang onto things near the floor.

The Tech-Priest's voice spoke. The viewscreen was still blank. 'Just a brief loss of power, Captain. The spike worked but it blew some fuses. We're just getting them changed. You should get back the viewscreen right now!'

The screen flickered into life. The blue-green-white half-disc of Minoris surged into view. A smaller turquoise half-disc was visible up and to the left – Majoris. People cheered.

A grey dot drifted into view.

'Oh skak,' the captain said. 'Battlestations, everyone!'

Alaster stared. The dot ws at one edge of the screen. The screen marked it with a red crosshair. A new opened a new window, zooming in. A freakish, veined, organic-looking potato-shape was revealed. It was a Nid ship – no, he realised, he was actually looking at a Tyranid! An enormous one that doubled as a spacecraft, but still a Tyranid! The scale of it was sickening. The foulness of these xenos truly knew no bounds.

Two more dots moved ponderously into view on the main screen.

'Captain!' one of the bridge crew shouted out. 'Sensors are back up. We're come out in the middle of a fleet! Contacts on all sides!'

'Great,' the captain said. 'Okay, ready the engines. We need to clear this lot. Get ready to push us toward the planet, as fast as possible.'

'Captain,' Darius said. 'We should be careful about drawing too hard on the plasma reactors. We're still getting secondary spikes.'

'You said that maneoevre was safe!'

'I wasn't planning on this happening as well,' he replied.

'Double uh oh,' Sandrer added over the vox.

'Brother Sandrer – please shut up! And that's an order!' Kodos sounded grumpy. 'And everyone – hold on!'

The captain reached for a switch. Alaster was slammed backwards by the sudden acceleration. The hull groaned. The ship jerked. Alaster was slammed upwards. He saw the ceiling approaching, too fast-

Everything went black.

* * *

'Uhh.'

'About skakking time you woke up.' Kodos's voice came from somewhere.

Alaster blinked his eyes open, shaking his groggy head. Vague pain throbbed across his skull. He could feel sore patches elsewhere on his body. He was surrounded by blurry shapes. It took him a few moments but he managed to focus.

The bridge was dark and quiet. Even the emergency lighting was gone. The only illumination came from a couple of consoles, flickering fitfully – and the turquoise half-disk of the planet, visible through a huge gash in the hull.

Alaster stared. The bridge was torn open. It was open to space! His suit's autosenses confirmed it. They were in hard vacuum. 'By the Emperor,' Alaster swore quietly. The only sound he could hear was the faint hiss and crackle of vox and the in-out sighing of his own breathing, inside the confines of his helmet.

'Yeah, you can say that again,' Kodos agreed.

Alaster was floating near one of the consoles. Someone had lashed one of his arms to the wreckage of a chair, with some cord. Presumably it was so he didn't drift off. Carefully, he brought his feet down to the floor. The magnetic inserts in his boots locked onto the decking. With his footing secure, Alaster untied the binding.

He looked around. The bridge was a mess. Debris drifted around. Over in the shadows on the far side, he could see what looked like several corpses, crudely lashed to the wall. Some frozen globules drifted past. They glinted redly in the weak light. Alaster realised they were blood.

'What happened?' he asked.

Kodos was stood beside him, anchored to the decking by his boots. The other Ravens were grouped behind him, around one of the consoles. They were viewing a schematic of something. It was projected in the air, a faint green hologram. It kept flickering. It seemed there wasn't enough power.

'I'm not absolutely sure,' Kodos admitted. 'But I think the plasma reactor might've blown.'

'Exploded?'

'Yeah. Nothing like an onboard fusion bomb to rip a ship apart.'

'Why didn't we get sucked out? I mean, I was KO'ed!'

Kodos shrugged. 'When marines get knocked out, we don't lose our grip.'

'That's useful.' Another biological miracle to thank the Emperor for, Alaster supposed.

'I think we came under fire from the Nids, too.'

'Skak – the Nids! How close are they?'

'We think about twenty thousand klicks,' Kodos said, 'and falling behind. It looks like the captain's trick worked – even if it did rip the ship open.'

'What about the crew?'

Kodos tapped one of the earpieces in his helmet. 'We can't raise any survivors. From the damage console-' he pointed toward the hologram '-it looks like the ship's been can-opened, bow to stern. Explosive decompression. That plus the radiation from the reactor blast – well, I don't think there's anyone left. Except us.'

'Why did it split?' Alaster was staring at the jagged gash in the ship's hull.

'Why?' Kodos shrugged. 'I guess all that mucking around in the Warp left the frame weakened. When they pulsed the engines up – just one strain too many.'

'Are we skakked?' Alaster asked.

'No,' Kodos replied bluntly. 'We're going to get off this ship. This is bad – very bad indeed – but we still have our orders. We're still going to Minoris.'

'So we're going to a Thunderhawk?'

'Sadly not. The Thunderhawk bay was destroyed in the blast.'

'Oh.' Alaster had no idea what that left. 'So what do we do?'

'There are drop pods,' Kodos replied.

*

The pod bay had been depressurised, like the rest of the Nevermore. However, that was no great problem for the Space Marines. Their main difficulty was getting down to it. Many of the corridors were blocked or twisted out of shape. The combined forces of the blast and the rupture had bent the ship down the middle. In the end, it actually proved easier to climb, hand-over-hand, across the outside of the hull.

A short time later they found themselves inside the pod bay. A hole in the hull provided a convenient entrance point. It was dark in the bay – few systems had any battery power here. The only source of light was the Minoris-shine leaking in through the circular hole in the wall. The pods were a rank of looming, black shapes in the bluish darkness. They looked a bit like angular tear drops. Looming over them was the lifting apparatus, which was supposed to shift the pods into place for launch. The arms and levers hung overhead, lifeless in the gloom.

Kodos walked along the rank of pods. He pressed a few keys on the side of each. Only a couple of them lit up.

'Looks like it's going to be this one,' he told the squad, pointing to a pod. 'None of the others' systems respond. Eorvan, Shepherd – you're the strongest here. You're going to help me shift this thing.'

'Shift it?' Nasty asked.

'Yes – shift it. The bay launch systems are offline. You have a problem with that?'

'But – it must weigh tons!'

'It would under one gee. Here it weighs nothing. It masses tons – but you have the strength of ten men. Or you're supposed to, anyway. So get your skakking arse over here and act like you have a use!'

'Yes Sergeant!' Nasty knew an order when he heard one. He and Brother-Corporal Eorvan joined the sergeant by the pod.

'The rest of you,' Kodos ordered, 'go to the pod bay doors over there. There'll be cutting gear in the emergency locker to your left. Use that to open the doors.'

Alaster and the others located the cutting gear. They hauled it over to the nearest of the bay doors, a big circular airlock built into the floor. The cutting gear consisted of a high-powered laser – lucky as it would work even in the airless bay.

Sandrer, Fegust, Alaster and Patreus moved the projection apparatus into place above the airlock. Alaster had to be careful to keep his chainsword out of the way – it kept trying to float off. Luckily the shoulder-strap held it more-or-less in place. Alaster ended up wedging it in between his cuirass and his backpack. If he moved his arms back too far it was in the way, but otherwise it stayed put.

The cutting apparatus was a big tube, somewhat resemblant of a Devastator's lascannon. It was hooked up to a tripedal support and thick cables ran to a portable power unit. Alaster wondered briefly if they could somehow wire the power unit into the dormant systems. One look at it convinced him not try – the engineering was unfamiliar and complex. The likelihood of mortally offending the temperamental Machine Spirits was too high. Alaster reminded himself that he was a Space Marine, not a Tech-Priest.

They got the big laser setup. Alaster was worried it wouldn't turn on but luckily it came on without trouble. The lights glowed softly on the control panel.

The four brothers stared at it. 'Uh – what now?' asked Fegust.

'I don't know,' Sandrer said.

'Me neither,' Patreus said.

'Brother Alaster?' Sandrer asked.

Alaster stared at it. He didn't know how to work the machine! 'I'm… uh…' he began to speak then he trailed off.

'What?' Sandrer asked.

'Maybe…' Alaster mused. He looked closely at the controls. In the Imperium, any device more complex than a hand-cranked water-pump came from an STC design. That led to a degree of standardisation. On occasion, this had its advantages. In his training, at one point at a firing range on Eta, Alaster had handled a lascannon. He hadn't paid much attention – he wouldn't be eligible to leave the Assualt Corps for years yet – but some stuff from it had stayed.

If indeed this device was similar to a lascannon…

'Maybe I do have an idea,' he said. 'Stand back, everyone.'

The controls made a bit more sense as he looked at them. They'd confused him initially because they were laid out flat, on a panel, not built into the grip of an oversized gun. But as he looked more closely, he started to recognise things. That slider was laser power density, that switch was pulse mode versus continous beam, that knob over there was projection angle…

'I think I've got it,' he said. He began manipulating the controls. The tube of the laser moved around. It pointed down.

He engaged the beam.

A blue circle suddenly glowed on the metal. Its edges were knife-sharp. Moments later, the metal started to glow a dull red around the edge of the blue ring. The red brightened to yellow and then to white – and then a few droplets of molten metal bubbled up. Some of them fizzed silently as they entered the beam, as the alloy was roasted apart.

The beam flickered into ghostly view, like a tube of glowing blue dust flecks. The photons were scintillating off the boiling alloy – otherwise the linear beam would be invisible.

Alaster carefully swung the beam around, melting through the thick alloy. It took time. The airlock was meant to stand up to weapons fire from the outside.

'Are we there yet?' Kodos demanded over the vox.

'A third of the way, Sergeant,' Alaster reported.

'Well get a skakking move on then!'

Alaster could feel vibrations, coming up through his boots. It was the others, hauling the drop pod over. He kept his hands on the controls of the beam, trying to stay focused.

Finally, the airlock was ringed with glowing, molten metal. It had darkened a little on the side where Alaster had first begun, back from white-hot to a mere orange-hot, but it hadn't cooled as much as he'd feared.

Once the lock was melted through, disposing of it was a simple matter. He just leaned over, carefully avoiding the hot bits, and placed his palm flat against the surface. Alaster signalled the other three Ravens into place around the rim of the airlock, each positioned at ninety degrees further around than the man next to him.

'Push!' Alaster said.

They pushed.

Silently and slowly, the heavy disk of metal sank down through its housing. Then, suddenly, stars appeared around its edge. Followed by droplets of glowing molten alloy, the airlock fell gracefully away. No longer constrained by the collar of the airlock, the interlocking segments slipped away from each other.

They shrank into the star-speckled darkness.

'Okay,' Kodos said, 'this is where it gets interesting. We have to get the pod up, over the hole. Once it's in place, we climb in. Then the thrusters take us out, through the hole.'

'What if it moves?' Sandrer asked.

'If we lower the doors,' Patreus suggested, 'on all sides, we can make a sort of tripod for it. That'll keep it in position long enough for us to get in.'

Kodos nodded. 'Okay. That's a passable idea, actually. We'll do that.'

'Sergeant.' It was Patreus again.

'What, Brother?'

'We don't have our jump packs. If we're going to Riothria…'

'The packs were stored in one of the Thunderhawks. They're probably just vapour now. We'll manage without out, for now. Now get pushing, everyone.'

The pod had to be positioned so that its long axis was positioned straight above the centre of the airlock. They didn't want to bang the pod's sides on the way down. Damaging it was not a good idea. Once it was line up, they lowered the doors. With them down and touching the decking around the airlock-hole, the pod looked like a bizarre mechanical flower.

'There,' Kodos said. 'I think we're ready to fly.'

'Sergeant – just one thing,' Nasty said.

'What now, Shepherd?'

'What about the missile defences on Minoris?'

'What about them? The pod's IFF should tell them not to shoot us. And anyway, I suspect they might not be a problem anymore.' Kodos's tone was grim. 'Okay Brothers, enough yakking. Now get in.'

The marines loaded themselves into the drop pod. The harness engaged over Alaster. He had locked clipped his chainsword into the slot for it on the front of the harness. The hilt poked up in front of him, into his line of view, where he couldn't forget it.

He stood there, strapped firmly against the wall behind him. The harness didn't leave much room to move – it was designed to prevent you getting injured on a turbulent re-entry, turbulent meaning 'shot at'. Alaster was glad that his new skin wasn't at all itchy. Scratching would be out of the question here.

'I'm closing the doors,' Kodos told them. Alaster felt a rumble of machinery through his boots. Then, silently, the pod door rose up in front of him. The view of the pod bay closed off. Alaster was staring at the inside of the pod. The only lights were a few small indicator lights and an infra-red glow, reflected from the cooling radiators of his power armour.

Kodos said, 'Thrusters in four, three, two, one … Firing!'

The pod jerked. Then there was a definite sense of movement. Oddly, Alaster felt himself pushed up as the thrusters fired. A few moments passed. The acceleration stopped. There was a moment of weightlessness, then the thrusters fired again. This time the weight was at an angle, not straight up through the pod. There were a few more firings, then stillness.

'There,' Kodos said. 'We're out of the ship. And on our way.'

There was some more silence. Then Sandrer spoke. 'Uh, Sergeant?'

'What, Sandrer?'

'When do we make planetfall?'

'Oh, not for a while.'

'How long is a while?'

'I reckon about thirty-six hours,' Kodos replied.

'Thirty-six hours!?'

Alaster could hear the shrug in Kodos's voice. 'Well, we only have a limited propellant stock. We need that for re-entry. We've already burnt more than I'd like. So I've nudged us onto the right orbital track – and then we just drift down to the upper atmosphere. All very neat and energy-efficient, but sadly it takes a while.'

It was Nasty's turn to moan. 'Thirty-six hours in this can … that sucks.'

'You might want to catch up on some sleep,' Kodos said.

* * *

'Heads up!' Kodos's voice announced. 'We're coming in!'

Alaster jerked awake. 'That was a nice nap,' he said.

'You've been out for more than a day,' Kodos growled. 'If I wasn't strapped in, I'd kick your lazy arse.'

Alaster didn't dignify that with a reply. Once nice thing about his new, improved body was that he could time his sleeping. When he was done with it, he just woke up, fresh and alert. He didn't miss grogginess.

He sipped some water from the dispenser tube. He didn't need to drink much – his suit kept up his hydration through the ports in the black carapace. However, his mouth was a bit dry. It felt good to moisten it.

'How long've we got?' Nasty asked.

'Minutes,' Kodos replied. 'We're already in the outer reaches of the atmosphere.'

Alaster felt the pod vibrate, just a little. 'There it is,' he said.

The buffeting increased over the next few minutes. Alaster watched the instruments, displaying the hull temperature. It was rising rapidly. From the outside, the pod's base would be glowing a dull cherry-red by now. It would be surrounded by a howling plasma wind as it slammed into the air below. It would be tilted at an angle, shedding velocity as it fell in.

Alaster began to feel excited. This was it. After all that waiting, all that preparation, it was here. He was going to war!

'Brother Patreus,' Kodos said suddenly, 'perhaps you would care to lead us in an appropriate prayer?'

'Me?' Patreus sounded surprised.

'Yes, you. You probably know more of them than any of us.'

'Uh, well, okay, if you want, Sergeant.' Patreus took a breath. As he did the pod wobbled again. This time Alaster actually heard something, a faint swooshing sound. Some particularly-dense blast of air must have moved past. 'Oh Great Lord, Thou who dwellest on Terra, we beseech Thee humbly in our time of need…' Patreus's voice was calm and almost hypnotic as he began the holy words. Alaster focused on his brother's voice as the pod thundered down through the air.

From the outside now, the pod was lost in the flaring trail of a great meteor. It streaked through the planet's skies, shedding velocity as it ploughed through the air. It had a lot of speed to loose before the final thruster-firing. On board it, data flowed through the circuits and chips of cogitators, following the implacable logic of ancient programmes. Instruments monitored descent speed, orientation, air flow over the pod's surface … the vigilant cogitators continually made little changes, nudging the pod here and there. The thrusters fired, on and off and on again, in little bursts.

This was a careful process – so much could go wrong. If it entered at one wrong angle, it could bounce off the atmosphere, reflected uselessly back into space. If it entered at the other sort of wrong angle, it would burn up before it ever reached the ground. If the heat shield in the base failed, its human cargo would be roasted in the heat of thousands of degrees. The air outside, shocked by the force of the pod's descent, had been flash-heated into plasma. The pod was isolated from outside radio communications – no vox could reach it inside the plasma sheath. For the next few minutes, it was cut off from the outside world.

Inside, Patreus carried on his prayer. He had picked one of the longer ones, deliberately. He understood Kodos's intention. This was a tense moment. The marines needed to be kept busy. His words gave them something to concentrate on, instead of the seemingly-magical technological forces around them, forces that their lives depended on. Forces over which they had no control.

The pod was slowing significantly. The air was much thicker now. The ion sheath was dissipating. Below it, Minoris's cloud layer loomed, vast, white and fluffy. The sun shone over weird agglomerations of white mist.

The pod hit the top of the cloud layer. Its still-hot surface tiles hissed as the water droplets touched them. It plunged through the cloud. Suddenly instead of white below, there was grey above.

A blotchy landscape was revealed underneath them. Patches of sunlight moved across the ground as holes in the cloud passed over. The landscape below was a jumbled mess, a splashed pattern of craters and churned-up mud. To the west, plumes of smoke rose from the carcass of a burning city. To their east, a vast flood covered the land. A dam further to the east had been burst some time before and the waters had flooded out.

As the pod fell, strange things came into view on the ground. Odd growths, almost like spines or a weird mould, rising from the landscape. To be visible even from here, they must be huge.

'Final firing,' Kodos announced, 'in five, four, three, two, ONE!'

The pod's base thrusters flared into life. These thrusters were mighty, four glaring plumes of blue-white fire howling from the pod's base. Inside, the Ravens were slammed against their harnesses by a stunning nine gravities of deceleration. They felt the breath whoosh from their lungs. Alaster struggled to breath against the crushing load.

A normal human would already have blacked out. Alaster felt strange, dazed and heavy. He had tunnel vision developing as the blood drained from his head. His two mighty hearts struggled to keep up. The world was going away.

The ground shot toward the pod. Now you could see trees – now branches – now leaves-

The pod slammed into the dirt. A plume of mud sprayed up around it.

Alaster's vision returned, the crippling G-forces gone.

His harness snapped free. He grabbed his chainsword as it withdrew. The door in front of him creaked and popped. It opened. A bright line of light shone around the edges. The door fell. Light flooded in.

Alaster got a brief glance of the wasteland outside. They'd landed in what was left of a forest. Dead tree-trunks rose out of muddy ground. Stangant grey pools sat amongst the trees. Weird fungal growths encrusted the trees-

Something leapt at Alaster.

He caught a glimpse of chitinous plates, scything claws and sharp teeth. Then his training took over. His chainsword roared into life. 'TYRANIDS!' he shouted. 'THE NIDS ARE HERE!'

He dropped into First Arrow. He stabbed his blade into the monster's chest. Chitinous plates cracked and broke. Ichor jetted out. The chainblade roared. The thing writhed impotently. Alaster pushed it off with his other hand.

The monster hit the floor. Somehow still living, it tried to crawl toward him. He stamped on its neck. It crunched under his boot. The xeno horror fell dead to the ground. Its eyes emptied.

'Ravens – get out of the pod!' It was Kodos. 'Form a perimeter. Kill all hostiles.'

Alaster didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted down the ramp, his boots clanging on the metal. His peripheral vision showed him the other squad members, running down their ramps.

Another alien horror confronted him. This time he got a look at it. It was a Hormagaunt. All chitin and xeno evil. Its wedge-shaped head pointed at him. Its mouth was wide, revealing a slavering tongue and vicious teeth. It tensed its legs. It sprung through the air, talons outstretched.

Alaster whipped up his bolt pistol. Aiming instinctively, he fired.

Ichor erupted from the monster's chest. The blast knocked it to one side. Alaster shot it again. Its head was blown off. The monster fell, lifeless, into the mud.

Another pistol roared. 'Got one!' Nasty exulted.

Movement caught Alaster's eye. He spun to his left. Out amongst the trees he saw a mass of shifting, swarming shapes. Rippers! They were all mouths, little claw-like arms and strange, prehensile tails. They moved with a weird, almost fish-like side-to-side motion. There were hundreds of them! They swam forward between the trees, intent on their target.

'Ripper swarm at six o'clock,' Alaster reported. They were heading right for him.

What was that? There was a bulbous shape moving drifting them on a long mass of prehensile tentacles. It looked amongst like an airborne jellyfish. A spore mine! Its bulbous sack was a kind of translucent green. Skak – bio-acid! That wasn't good. Its contents could eat their way through any weak points in his suit.

'Hold them off, Brother!' Kodos shouted. 'Use a grenade, if you've got one. We'll help when we can.'

Suddenly Alaster had an idea.

He brought up his pistol. He sighted carefully. He breathed in slightly, looking along the barrel. He lined the green sack up along his gun. It was growing bigger. He could hear the Rippers now. They made a hissing-chittering sound. It even sounded hungry. He breathed out a little. He held his breath.

He pulled the trigger. The bolt pistol roared.

The sack exploded. Acid spewed out over the swarm. The chittering turned to a howl of agony. Then it fell into a gurgle and then silence.

Three surviving Rippers fled toward him. Alaster shot one. Two approached the ramp. He shot the other. One leapt up onto the ramp.

Alaster tensed and sprang. He lifted into the air. Moments later he descended –on top of the alien. His boots impacted. There was a crunch. It was crushed under his armoured bulk. Alaster felt its carapace buckle below him. Ichor and xeno innards sprayed out.

Alaster grunted in satisfaction. 'Swarm neutralised,' he reported.

The firing and the growl of chainswords had fallen silently.

'Okay,' Kodos said, 'we've got the first wave. But we can't stay here. We're going to make for that hill over there.' He walked forward, pointing west. Alaster looked. He saw it, rising over the trees. The top was a sheer chunk of jagged rock. It rose into the sky, relieved in black against the uneven cloud above. 'That looks more defensible. And we'll have a better vox range from up there. Come on – move!'

The Storm Ravens didn't need telling twice.

The marines split into their two teams. Alaster took point in his, Eorvan doing the same with his. Kodos ran between them, shouting orders.

The marines ran through the morbid forest. Water and mud sprayed out under their boots. Fallen branches crunched and stones were kicked aside. At one point Alaster had to push aside an awkward sapling.

'We're being pursued,' Patreus announced. 'There's motion by the pod!'

There was – a sea of Nids had appeared, moving like an animated carpet amongst the trees. Nasty turned to fire.

Kodos grabbed his arm and dragged him back into a run. 'Don't waste your ammo,' the sergeant advised. 'You can snipe bugs from the hill!'

They kept running.

The Nids flowed after them. The Space Marines were fast but Alaster realised the alien horrors were gaining on them. 'Keep going!' Kodos shouted.

The hill was closer now. The trees were thinning out as they approached the bottom slopes. As the ground began to rise, there was less mud and firmer footing. But still the Nids closed.

Alaster could resolve their pursuit now. It was a mass of gaunts with some other shapes at the back. Alaster frowned. Then recognition hit, from all those orientation lectures. Genestealers! With them were a few more bobbing sacks – more spore mines. They were towing the mines with them.

'We've got 'Stealers and mines on our tail,' he said.

'I know, Brother,' Kodos said. 'We'll deal with them when we have the high ground.'

Dead grass was crunching under Alaster's feet now. Looking down, he saw miniature fungal blooms wound in amongst it. The little filaments were a sickly purple. He wondered if this was to do with the Tyranids. Probably, he decided.

The ground rose ahead of them. Boulders and rocks loomed amongst the soil. Alaster had to dodge between them. It was frustrating – he was losing precious time.

He could hear sounds now, a chintinous hissing. He risked a glance back. The Nids were emerging from the trees. The marines didn't have much clearance on them! It was down to only a couple of dozen yards. 'They're gaining on us!' he said.

The grass gave way to rock straight ahead – a steep slope of scree and rubble. The marines clambered onto it. They scrambled up as best they could, small pebbles scraping loose below their feet. Alaster could see a plume of dislodged rocks, falling behind them.

The Nids had reached the boulders below. To Alaster's relief, the rocks did seem to hold them up a bit. The marines had gained some time.

The rockface got steeper. Alaster had to holster his weapons. He was climbing hand-over-hand now. Bits of rock kept breaking off inhis gauntlets. It occurred to him that this rockface might not be that stable.

A big bit bounced past. Alaster had to swing to one side. Even then it still clipped his shoulder pad.

He kept climbing. The top was in sight.

He put one had over the other-

Suddenly a blue-black gauntlet reached down. Nasty grabbed Alaster's hand and hauled him up. With a sigh of relief, Alaster found himself atop the hill. The Ravens were stood on a roughly-flat, roughly rectangular rocky surface. The surface was marked with deep cracks and splashes of lichen. Here and there were some loose boulders.

Overhead greyish clouds glowered down. Rain seemed likely later in the afternoon. A desultory wind moaned amongst the rocks.

'Phew,' Alaster sad.

Unexpectedly, Eorvan spoke. 'Don't relax now,' the older marine growled. 'Look – they're climbing!'

They were, as well. The Nids were using their claws as climbing-axes.

'Oh great,' Fegust moaned. 'Now what do we do?'

Nasty pointed at a boulder. 'Roll some of these down! We can squash more of 'em with a rock then we can shoot!'

'He's right,' Kodos said. 'Everyone – get a boulder and start pushing!'

Alaster sprinted to the nearest rock. It was bigger than he was. With a grunt of effort he rolled it toward the edge. Six other boulders joined his at the precipice.

'One,' Kodos said, 'two, three - ROLL!'

The Ravens pushed. The big rocks tumbled off the edge.

Alaster watched as the boulders descended. Their shadows swept over the Nids. Then there was a rumbling crackling noise as carapaces were crushed and chitin plating shattered. The rocks rolled on, covered in ichor and broken Nids. They rolled further down the slope, straight into the horde at the bottom. Spore mines began exploding, over-stimulated by the sound and motion. Acid sprayed over their genestealer handlers. Rocks rolled into them.

The Space Marines watched the carnage with satisfaction. Within minutes, the Tyranid attack was broken. The plain below was now still, littered with broken and dying Tyranids.

'Okay,' Kodos said, 'now that's done, we need to figure out what the hell's going on around here.'


	23. Chapter 23 A Bad Situation

Kodos stood at the edge of the precipice, trying to make contact. He looked out over a blasted landscape of broken trees and distant spore towers. The colours were beige and grey, brown and ashen white. There was nothing green left below. The presence of Tyranids was unmistakeable. The air smelt of rot and dirty water. The wind moaned quietly around him. He shifted his feet, boots scraping on the rock.

'Three-Four Lead to Command Four, do you read? Repeat, Three-Four Lead to CO-Four, do you read? Over.' He drummed a finger against the side of his helmet. So far, his signal had gone unanswered.

He stared out into the distance. In the east, the land became hilly. He could see a line of rocky escarpments, rising over the treeline. A river wound in and out of the trees between the Ravens' outcrop and the rocky scarps. The water glinted in the gray daylight.

He tried a different tack. 'Any allied forces, this is Sergeant Kodos of the Storm Ravens Fourth Company. Do you read? Over.'

There was nothing, just static. 'It's too far,' Kodos muttered to himself.

There was a crackle. '…Kodos? Is that you? Over?'

Inside his helmet, Kodos blinked. The voice was faint, but he recognised it. 'Lakon! Good to hear you! Uh, Three-Four Lead to CO-Four, requesting situation update. Over.'

'Yes, all right,' Lakon's voice said. 'In a minute. Where are you, Kodos? Over.'

'I'm not entirely sure, Captain,' Kodos admitted. 'We came down in a drop pod. Launched a bit beyond optimum range. I was aiming for land. Over.'

'Land. Right. I take it you found some? Over.'

'Yes my lord. Muddy and Nid-infested, but land all the same. We're holed up on a rocky hill, where the local bugs can't get at us. Over.'

'What's your status? We saw the _Nevermore_'s reactor explode. No-one answered our hails – we thought you were all dead. Over.'

'We nearly were, my lord. The human crew were all killed. There were problems with the Warp drive – it damaged the hull. The ship basically broke up on re-entry. There wasn't any power – we couldn't call anyone. So we took a drop pod down. My lord, I have five new Ravens with me. Freshly minted Battle-Brothers, complete with blank trim. Plus Brother-Corporal Eorvan. Over.' A hint of pride entered Kodos's voice.

'Well that's the first bit of good news I've had in months. Is that Patreus, Karo, Shepherd, Fegust and Sandrer? Over.'

'Yes my lord. Over.'

'How are you for equipment? Over.'

'We've got a chainsword each. I've got my plasma pistol. The others have bolt pistols. We've all got spare ammo, but only as much as we could carry. I reckon maybe a week's supply. Oh – none of us have jump packs. Those were lost with the _Nevermore_. Over.'

'So you'll be joining us on foot, then. That might take a while. Wait, someone's just handed me a map … oh. Over.'

'Oh, sir? Over.'

'You've ended up down there,' Lakon commented. 'Co-ordinates ten point oh one five degrees south, longitude sixteen hours thirty-one minutes point oh five seconds. We've just tracked your feed – you're being relayed via com-sat. Over.'

'Right,' Kodos said. 'I didn't realise that. I thought we were somewhere nearby, talking on the normal net. Over.'

'No, you're more than three thousand clicks south of us,' Lakon replied. 'Wait a second-' there was a hiss and a crackle and a momentary silence. His voice returned stronger and clearer than before. 'Okay, we've got a better signal now. Directional beam. Over.'

'Ten degrees south my lord – are you sure?' Kodos said. 'I mean, it doesn't look tropical here. Over.'

'It won't,' Lakon said grimly. 'The climate's collapsed. Over.'

'What?' Kodos was surprised. 'But we've only been away a few months – what's happened? Over.' He tilted his head back. The sky was still filled with an undulating blanket of cloud. He could see a few sunbeams, penetrating it to the south. A display in the corner of his eye told him that it was eight degrees above freezing point – hardly tropical!

'One of the bigger Nid ships, some weird bio-thing,' Lakon explained. 'Twelve clicks long. It was getting close to the planet. The Navy engaged it. Heavy losses, but they thought they'd taken it out. Then the front end exploded – some sort of propellant. Cancelled its orbital momentum. So something the size of a mountain fell out of the sky. Luckily it was partly-hollow, or it would've been lights-out down here. As it was it did more than enough damage. Over.'

'Oh,' Kodos said. 'So effectively an asteroid strike. Over.' He looked up at the greyish clouds. He'd seen a couple of them, or the aftermaths anyway. They weren't pretty.

'Yes. It dumped shedloads of rubbish into the air. Dust, vapourised bedrock, ash from all the fires it lit. All that rubbish's been blocking out sunlight. The temperature's plunged, planet-wide. We've had ice-storms in the tropics. You might've noticed more cloud cover on the way in. Over.'

'I didn't really get a good look,' Kodos admitted. 'We were a bit busy. My lord – the ship that fell. Was it carrying a full spore charge? Over.'

'Yes,' Lakon agreed grimly. 'And it blanketed the southern hemisphere on the way down. Sprayed it all out. We now have a major Nid infestation down there. Over.'

Kodos looked around. In the distance he could see smoke rising from something near the horizon. Here and there, he could see the spindly shapes of spore chimneys, rising into the sky. Some of them had haze near the tips – they were active, spraying out their cargo of death.

'I see it,' he said. 'This area's a mess. Over.'

'Yeah,' Lakon agreed. 'We've basically lost the southern hemisphere. A couple of hold-outs, but they won't last. There's heavy fighting in the northern tropics. Tenth parallel is roughly the front line. But we're getting pushed back. The Guard just aren't really trying anymore. And that's just the Octalians we brought with us – a third of the PDF have run away. Over.'

Kodos pounded his fist in sudden fury. 'Deserters! Skak! It's their own homeworld! What is wrong with them? Over.'

'Bad leadership, bad equipment and bad deployments,' Lakon replied bluntly. 'Oh, and a little civil war too. Over.'

'What the skak? Over.'

'A civil war. You heard right. After the big one came down, a load of the east-coast cities got restive. The dust and the storms wrecked the harvest. There've been food riots. Some churches got sacked and the local hierarchs've got twitchy. They don't think the Governor's done enough for them. And then the Governor's latest battle-plan came unstuck spectacularly. The Sixteenth Army basically got wiped out at Niemann's Pass. That was the last straw. A group of City Lords went on the holo declaring secession. They said the current Governor's coronation hadn't been legal, or some self-serving skak like that. Over.'

'What, and they've just been allowed to walk out? Over.'

'We've asked the sector Administatum for instructions. Are the secessionists an illegal association, and can we shoot them? We got a message saying the Administratum was sending someone to sort it out, but nothing since. No-one's arrived. We haven't had any further messages since – I wonder if the Shadow in the Warp's blocking the astropaths. Over'

'We had some trouble with that on the way in. A skakked Warp drive.' Kodos paused. 'So there's a chain-of-command break at the supra-planetary level too? Fan-skakking-tastic. Over.'

'It gets worse. Over.'

'Oh does it now? Do I actually want to know? Over.'

'Probably not, but I'll tell you anyway. The new League of Settlements-'

'Lose. What a good acronym. Over.'

'Yes, I'd had that thought too. They are a bunch of losers, quite frankly. Anyway, straight after, the Losers knocked up a massive statue to – guess who? – Guilliman-'

'Oh no. Is this going where I think it is? Over.'

'Yes. I'm not sure what's worse. The fact that they did something so blatantly cynical – or the fact the Blueys fell for it. Anyway, the Ultramarines've basically abandoned the lawful authorities. Apparently they think the rebels are more pious. They won't go to planning sessions, they won't return calls, they won't tell them about their deployments … we can still get some answers out of them, but they're pretty taciturn. The one small mercy is they're not shooting at us. Over.'

'They wouldn't – would they? Over.'

'No, I don't expect that. They're still loyalists – the rebellion's against the planetary regime, not the Imperium. As for the other chapters … the Doom Eagles and the Wolves are still with us. The Red Hawks've gone with the Blueys. So they've managed to split the Astartes. It's messed up. Over.'

'So what's happening with joint-op planning? Or is anything happening? And the PDF – what state is that in?'

'Ops planning? Skak all with those two. They'll answer the vox, but they won't say much. They don't like us telling the lawful authorities what they're doing, apparently. As for the PDF, well, the regiments are raised by the cities, not the central government. Their loyalties are local. So the Losers have taken about half of what we've got left. The Governor can't stand this affront to his majesty. So he's got some of his forces shooting at them – and not the Nids. The Nids meanwhile … well, I told you we've lost the southern hemisphere.' Lakon's voice grated with frustration. 'We're having to use marines in attrition fighting. That's-'

'That's skakky,' Kodos put in. 'We just don't have the numbers. We should be doing lightning strikes on high-value targets. Get in, kill everything, piss on the wreckage, get out before the enemy knows what hit them. That's how we work best. But if we're having to do stand-in-a-line-and-shoot? Skak me. Over.'

'Well if you take the usual ratio, one of us being worth ten Guardsmen, then it's not as bad as it sounds. But it's not good enough either. But it's still not good enough. We've not been defeated once in battle – and yet we're losing ground at ten miles a day! We're doing the best we can with jump packs, drop pods and teleporters but sixteen hundred Space Marines can't cover everything along ten degrees north by ourselves! We've still got the Octalian Guard regiments, but they're being run too hard. Morale's down, there are supply problems and they're badly in need of reinforcements. It means-'

'We're losing, aren't we?' Kodos asked bluntly. 'Over.'

'Essentially – yes.' Kodos could hear Lakon grinding his teeth. 'And if this planet goes then the Nids jump to Majoris. The public have twigged what's happening – the roads to the spaceports are backed up for clicks. Every available flight's booked up. The tropical cities are half-empty – everyone who can leave, has. Apparently the black-market rate for a ticket off-planet has topped a million a shot-'

'And the Cogheads and the Administratum? Where are they in all this? Over.'

'They're not admitting it, but they're pulling out. Their offices in the capital are down to skeleton staffs. There've been hourly flights from the AdMech's private port, day and night. Not a spare seat, either, so I hear. Family, friends and good bribes, that sort of thing. Over.'

'Oh well, if any more evidence was needed … you know it's going downhill when they clear off. Are we getting any help at all out of the Hawks and the Ultras? Over.'

'Not much. They're fighting their own campaign, on the Losers's southern border. Thing is, their territory is roughly triangular. The narrowest bit is where the Nids are. They've got less land to cover and the terrain's on their side – a mountain range between them and the worst of it. So they feel like they're doing okay. The other day some idiot Bluey chaplain told me it was the Emperor's favour. But of course once the Nids jump the mountains, it's grassy plains all the way. Chomp, chomp, munch, burp, game over. To be fair to them, the Hawks have co-ordinated with us a few times since the split, but the Ultras? No. All they'll say is they "regret" they're "too far east" to assist. Over.'

Kodos swore. 'That's pathetic. Over.'

'I couldn't agree more. Over.'

'So – what the skak are we going to do? Over.'

'Well, there is a plan underway – wait, let me look at where you are.' There was silence for a moment. The Lakon spoke again. 'Well isn't that interesting. Apparently you're in Zone B-Red. The edge, anyway. Over.'

'And what exactly does that mean? Over.'

'It means you might just be useful. We're trying to regain the initiative – trying to strike against some key bug nests. Their spawning grounds, things like that. If we can knock a load of those out, they get less reinforcements. Then we can start wearing the skakkers down, take back some land. You with me so far? Over.'

'Yeah. That sounds like textbook Astartes manoeuvre warfare. I take it this Bread – sorry, _B_-Red – is linked? Over.'

'Satellite imagery shows something in the middle of it – when we have holes in the clouds, anyway. It looks like some sort of hive node – loads of spawning pools, spore towers and more bug-skak besides.' Inside his helmet, Kodos blinked. For Lakon, that was vulgar. The captain was obviously feeling the pressure. 'Something like a Nid factory, basically, with a control centre thrown in. We want to co-ordinate an orbital strike against this thing. We took out a similar, but smaller, complex a month ago. The local Nids basically fell over after that. It seems it was relaying them instructions from the Hive Mind, too. They just milled around clacking their claws at us. I was there – we cut down thousands of them. They fought individually but there was no sign of strategy. Do you see where this is going? Over.'

'So if this thing is bigger – blowing it to skak might have a bigger effect? Over.'

There was a shrug in Lakon's voice. 'It's worth a try. Anyway, we need to get a transmitter in there, so the ships can get a better lock on it. We want it flattened – we're not sure what the critical bit is, so it all needs to go. There's a strike team of Space Wolves working their way in from the east – they took a drop pod down yesterday. You're a bit south and a bit west of their position. But you could possibly rendezvouz. Over.'

'That sounds promising,' Kodos said. He looked around the desolate hilltop. 'At the moment we're just stood here. And I can't say I rate the scenery. Fighting with the Wolves is one up on all that. Over.'

'Okay, I'm sending word to Einar Thorbjornsson – this op's his baby. But I reckon the Wolf Lord'll want you to link up with his forces – it's the only logical thing to do. A joint strike is more likely to succeed. Are you up for it? Over.'

Kodos was excited. 'Up for it? Skak yes! These Nid bastards jumped on us the moment we landed. A chance to send them chittering back to the mothership – I'm well up for that! And it's about time my lads had a real fight, too. Over.'

'Okay. For now, hold your position. I'll get back to you soon with instructions. CO-Four roger and out.'


	24. Chapter 24 Rendezvous

'So this is it,' Nasty said. He sounded excited. His voice crackled in Alaster's earphones.

'Shut up!' Alaster hissed.

'Oh come on – the Nids aren't on the comm-net,' Nasty said.

There was a crackle. Kodos's voice growled in their ears. 'Don't count on it, Shepherd. I've seen stranger things. Now shut your mouth, unless you have something useful to say.'

Kneeling down, Alaster put one hand on the ground, laying his chainsword flat on the soil. He wedged one booted foot in front of him, just behind the edge of the rock. He leaned out from behind the boulder before him, quickly surveying the scene beyond, putting his weight on the foot.

Rain hammered into the nearby mud. Little splashes of water erupted from puddles. Blue-white lightning cracked across the black sky in a sudden burst. Moments later the thunder rolled over them. It faded, giving way again to the sound of rain hammering on the ground. The Ravens weren't immune from the storm either. Water sluiced down Alaster's shoulder pads. Fat droplets dripped from his bolt pistol.

There was no sign of the enemy. Alaster pushed against the ground with his foot, leaning himself back into cover. He picked up his chainsword, shaking a couple of bits of dirt from the teeth.

A dribble trickled onto one of his eyelenses. Irritated, he tucked the bolt pistol under one arm as he brushed the droplets away. The intruder was gone in moments – the outer layer of the lenses was water-repellent. Alaster gripped his pistol again.

Off to the left and slightly ahead, he could just see the black shadow that marked Sgt Kodos's shape. He was crouched behind one of the bigger boulders, at the foot of the rocky hill. Looking very carefully beyond him, Alaster could just make out the shapes of a couple of Eorvan's fireteam. The marines had organised themselves into travelling formation. The two fireteams had separated themselves, a good twenty metres between their nearest points.

Alaster looked behind himself. Nasty was squatting behind a bush, Patreus behind a heap of fallen branches. One of the dark shapes looked bigger. Patreus was nearer then he should be.

'Patreus,' Alaster said, 'move back. You're too close.'

The shape twitched. Patreus's voice crackled in Alaster's earphones, sounding embarrassed. 'Sorry, Brother Alaster. Won't happen again.'

'See that it doesn't,' Kodos put in. 'At least ten metres – that's the regulation distance. You want one shell splatting your entire team?'

'No Sergeant.' Patreus sank back into the darkness.

Spread out like this, the marines could cover each other, with a brother watching from each point of the triangle. The two fireteams could also watch out for the other, separated as they were. Alaster knew this formation would work better if they had bolters or, dare he say it, some heavy weapons, but they had to manage as best they could. He briefly wished they had jump packs – this would be a lot easier.

Still, no point wishing for what they didn't have. They'd just have to improvise. Astartes were supposed to be good at that.

The lightning cracked through the sky again. Alaster leaned forward, surveying the terrain beyond again, using the brief light. It was night now and the storm was under full force. It had started at around sunset. They'd been aware of its approach – Kodos had managed to make contact with HQ earlier. It had been seen brewing out over the sea, by the satellites. It had made landfall earlier in the morning and had been blowing toward their position all day.

Thunder roared. Alaster leaned back, having seen no change.

'Talk about bringing the storm,' Nasty muttered.

'Shepherd. Shut. Up.' Kodos didn't sound pleased.

Nasty grumbled something Alaster didn't quite make out but he also did as he was told, falling silent.

The storm was a blessing, despite appearances to the contrary. The squad was being sent to rendezvous with an allied force who were operating somewhere nearby. Kodos had received the orders a couple of hours after making contact with Cpt. Lakon. With this weather, any tracks they left would quickly be destroyed. The storm should cover any noise their movements made and the rain would block scents. With the darkness of night adding concealment, it was the logical time to move.

Alaster glanced down, making sure the mud was still in place. Kodos had ordered them to smear the dark material over their chest-eagles. It hadn't felt respectful somehow, but Kodos had told them they didn't want reflected glints giving their positions away. The gilded chest-decorations had morale value and were intimidating in close combat but they were less useful on missions like this. That said, there was no question of the marines not having them – that really wouldn't be respectful.

Between lightning-strikes, Alaster was seeing mainly in the infra-red. The night vision gear in his helmet helped somewhat, but it was only really useful if there were any gaps in the cloud. It needed some light to work with. Alaster's surroundings were a gloomy mix of weak shades of deeper-than-reds along with some even-deeper-than-thats thrown in for good measure. It was weird for Alaster – he still didn't have names for these new colours. Presumably the other Astartes must call them something. He resolved to ask Kodos, when an opportunity presented itself.

Movement.

His head turned. It was Kodos. His arm was out, fingers moving in a hand-signal. Fist balled. One finger unfurled, pointing toward Alaster, then turning forwards. Then he pointed off to the side.

Alaster looked back to Patreus and Nasty. He could see them, darker shapes in the blackness. He signalled to them. Their fireteam was to move forwards first. Kodos and the others would follow.

Alaster looked before him. This was the most dangerous bit. The Space Marines had to break cover to get from the rock field to the trees at the bottom of the hill. Alaster scanned quickly for any enemies. He didn't see any. He waved the others forward.

The three Ravens ducked out of cover. They ran downhill in a wedge-formation, Alaster on point, Nasty in between and Patreus taking up the rear. Moments later they were amongst the trees at the bottom. Alaster tried to move confidently, act like he was in charge. Earlier, after their arrival at the hill, Kodos had taken Alaster aside. His mind flashed back to the sergeant's words.

Kodos had taken his helmet off. He'd motioned Alaster to do the same. His words hadn't been for sharing. '_At the drop pod_,' the sergeant had said quietly, '_you fought well – but you fought by yourself. You shouldn't – you're a leader now. You have two other Ravens looking to you for orders. Don't forget them. This once I'll let you off – this is new to you. But don't let it happen again_.'

Alaster was determined not to. He'd been surprised Kodos had been that nice to him. It was out of character – that made him more determined not to push his luck.

Rain slammed down around them. The air was filled with the hiss of precipitation. Above, dead branches groaned as the wind pushed them back and forth. The air smelt of disturbed mud.

Alaster summoned up the image of the map from his memory. Kodos had made it, crudely, out of bits and pieces of junk while they were still on top of the rocky hill. It had showed them their planned route. Just north of here was a shallow river. It was set down below ground level, between its banks. It offered some cover and a footprint-free path toward their destination. The marines could follow it most of the way.

He pointed ahead of him, then signalled his fireteam forwards.

The key to this operation was stealth. The Ravens had to get to the rendezvous point undisturbed. They hadn't seen any evidence of further Nid patrols during the day. However, it was beyond belief that they would remain undisturbed. By now, the Hive Mind had to have noticed the earlier destruction of its attack force. Even if it didn't know exactly what had happened, it must realise there were intruders in the area. The Space Marines had only a limited window to work with. If they got bogged down in some massive firefight then they wouldn't make the rendezvous.

They'd also probably be killed.

As he walked, carefully and quietly, Alaster could hear the beating of both his hearts. He felt the thud-thud of his pulse, near his eardrums. He breathed in and out, keeping it steady and calm. Gasping for breath inside a helmet wasn't a good idea.

Alaster was aware of the weight of his weapons. Gun in one hand, sword in the other. He kept his sword nearby, over his chest, while he swept out the terrain in front of him with the sights on his bolt pistol. Pistol to shoot any distant attackers, sword to fend off any close-range surprises.

He couldn't see any enemies – but that didn't mean there weren't any. His instructors had made it clear it was the foe you didn't see who killed you.

The mud squelched around his ceramite boots. Alaster realised he was moving a bit fast. Stealth, he reminded himself. Stealth is better than speed.

Oh for a jump pack…

Trees loomed around him. The dead black trunks towered into the sky like broken fangs. At the last instant Alaster moved his descending foot away from a rotten branch. It lay in the mud, half-buried, like a mine. The sound it'd make, breaking under his weight, might as well be a mine. It could get him killed just as easily.

Another burst of lightning cracked the sky. Alaster froze, lest his motion pick him out. For an instant, everything around him was outlined in stark white light. The light vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a rolling boom of thunder. Alaster smiled inside his helmet – that brief flash of light had shown him the riverbed ahead of them. The fireteam was close now.

He glanced behind him. Nasty and Patreus were following, holding their assigned separations. Good. Alaster felt a sense of relief. He signalled them forward, pointing to the riverbed. A thought occurred to him – he was leading Space Marines into battle. For a moment, it seemed incredibly weird. For a moment he felt like that small kid, stood on the school gym floor, more then a year past. Out of place. His eyes picked out the sacred words along its side. BRINGING THE STORM.

No - that small, scared kid was long gone. He banished the feeling of strangeness. He was an Imperial Space Marine. This was his place. This was his mission – time to focus on that.

Alaster's team-mates followed him to the riverbed. The river surface was five feet below the banks, with a further few inches of water below that. It was flowing fast, but not enough to cause problems for the Ravens. Alaster clambered down the steeply-inclined banks, as quickly and quietly as he could. He felt the gravel bed through his boots. It was firm enough, thank the Emperor.

There were faint splashes as Patreus and Nasty climbed down to the riverbed. They rook up positions against the far bank. This time Nasty was on point, as arranged earlier. The river was winding. They might not see attackers coming. If they met any opposition in the bed, it made sense to have the strongest of them in position for close combat.

Alaster moved to his position along the bank. To his infrared sight, the river was a fat black streak between the warmer and brighter banks. The water's black surface was made oily by uneven reflections of the eerie heat-light.

The rain had faded, Alaster noted.

A blue-grey luminance briefly flooded the area. A gap in the clouds was passing over – the disk of Majoris shone a turquoise optical light over the scene. For a few moments, the familiar colours were restored. Alaster looked quickly around the banks. As he did he noticed his armour was splattered with reddish-brown mud. He quickly checked the covering on his chest-eagle. The rain had thinned it a bit, but it was mostly holding up. Good.

The light weakened, fading away. The clouds closed over the disk of Majoris. With an angry patter the rain came down again. Alaster also hard faint splashes, durther downstream, as the other fireteam dropped into the water.

'Time to move, brothers,' Kodos told them. 'Team Karo, you're the canaries – again. Move.' Alaster signalled recognition. He waved his team forwards. They were in the vanguard.

The marines moved forwards. They were pressed up against the banks, using the muddy slopes for cover. Alaster kept a careful watch on the muddy riverside.

They moved forward for some time. The river's course was twisty. They had be careful going round the bends. At each curve an elaborate ritual took place, Alaster and Patreus falling back to cover Nasty, while Nasty would drop down and peer round the corner, just above the waterline. Then he'd get up and signal the others forward. Twice they thought they saw something – tense moments occurred while Alaster squirmed up the bank on his stomach, to have a quick look from a different angle. On both occasions, he saw nothing. Just branches, moving in the wind.

Water splashed around his legs. Alaster noticed it was getting deeper. The rain had fallen off to a light drizzle. The wind was the main sound now, making rotten tree branches groan and rattle against each other. Alaster had to admit he didn't like it here. He supposed this forest might have been beautiful, before the Nids blighted it. Now it looked like a set from a low-budget scare-film.

The cloud was thinner now. Some patches of sky broke through now and again. Stars glittered in the holes, cold and sharp. Majoris could be seen every now and then, sometimes clearly, sometimes a diffuse glow behind the cumulous. The extra light made navigation easier but it was a mixed blessing – if the marines could see better, so could their enemy.

The wind was steady. The trees moaned and rattled. Somewhere, a branch snapped and fell. Alaster heard the distant crunch as it landed.

They were passing the latest bend. Majoris had been obscured for a few minutes by a denser knot. Suddenly the river before Alaster emerged from half-shadow, lit in a spectral turquoise light. Beyond it he saw the stalks of the trees and their skeletal canopies. The neighbouring planet was visible again, above and beyond the treetops. It looked so much more inviting than their surroundings.

A dark shape entered the disk. Another followed.

'Head up!' Alaster said to the comm-net. 'Gargoyles! Overhead, south-southeast!'

'Up against the banks, everyone,' Kodos cut in. 'Try and lie flat. Don't move. They might not see us.'

Alaster shoved himself against the bank. A tree root scratched against his left shoulder pad. He leaned there, trying not to move. From above he might pass for a big rock, on a passing glance. If he stayed still, a passing glance might be all they got.

More shapes crossed the disk above. Alaster realised he was holding his breath. He made himself breath. He watched, counting. Seven alien monsters. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve…

The last of them passed over the planet. He counted sixteen in all. Now that he knew where to look, he could see them even against the dark sky. They were flying to the south-east. Alaster followed them as they moved. He zoomed his eyelenses in on one of them. There it was, silhouetted against the cloud and backlit by Majoris. A black shape, outlined in silvery-blue. There was the flapping shape of its wings. Below them was the protruding tube-maw of its fleshborer-firer. There was its ugly, angular head.

Its eyes were fixed firmly ahead. Alaster watched as it dwindled into the distance. It vanished behind the trees opposite him.

Alaster zoomed his eyelenses back out. He looked up. The planet's disk was clean. The monsters were gone.

'All right,' Kodos said, 'seems we got away with that one. But this is proof, brothers. Enemies are here. From now on, vigilance is the watchword. Now, we better move on before the next patrol comes.'

The marines moved out. The river carried on deepening. Alaster noticed more rocks embedded in the banks. They were bigger. They looked igneous. Looking ahead, Alaster saw an escarpment looming beyond the trees. In front of them the river made another final bend. The bed was wider now.

Alaster looked down. The water was up to mid-thigh level now. It was flowing faster – there was a current, swirling around his greaves.

He signalled the other two to check out the bend ahead. Alaster and Patreus pressed themselves against their banks, backpacks up against the muddy sides. Nasty moved forward. Suddenly he dropped sharply, up to his neck in the water. Hurriedly, he pulled back.

He shook the water from his chainsword. He tipped his bolt pistol down to drain it. Luckily the weapon was designed to work in all kinds of conditions, including vacuum. The dunking wouldn't damage it.

'The bed drops off,' he reported. 'It's all the way across the bed. It slopes down beyond that. If we go any further we'll be under water.'

Alaster relayed the findings to Kodos. 'What should we do, Sergeant?'

'We'll have to go round, over the banks,' Kodos replied. 'We need to see where we're going. Get up there, Karo. Then move forward – carefully!'

'Yes Sergeant.' Alaster scaled the bank. He paused behind a fat tree, set into its edge. A quick peer around its swollen root-bole showed no sign of the enemy. Alaster hauled himself up. He ducked behind another fat tree, positioned back from the bank.

Patreus and Nasty took up their stations on the shoreline. Further downstream, Kodos and Eorvan's men took up their positions.

Alaster and his team-mates moved into the trees.

Moments later, they emerged onto a shoreline. The bend in the river emptied into a lake. The lake was circular. From its neat perimeter, Alaster suspected it might not be natural – a relic of some stray missile, perhaps.

On the left side, the ground reared up in a sheer granite cliff. To the left, there was more of a slope, leading up the cliff-top. To the right were two deep gashes in the rockface – the lake overflowed through them, forming two new rivers. To the far right, as the lake curved back, the cliff carried on in a straight escarpment. It vanished behind the trees on the far shore. The wind was quieter here, blocked by the escarpment. Alaster could hear the water in the lake, lapping gently at the shore. The wavelets were tipped with silver planet-shine. A broken reflection of Majoris extended out across the water.

A branch snapped behind him.

Alaster turned – too late. Something hit his backpack. He was bowled over. He fell into the dirt. Dead leaves and soil sprayed out around him. He heard movement. He rolled aside.

He saw a blur of motion. An alien horror's long, scything talons hammered into the dirt where he'd been, moments before.

'NIDS!' he shouted into the comm. 'ENEMY CONTACT!'

He heard a bolt pistol sound twice, _bang-bang. _'Contact,' reported Patreus. 'One attacker. Range two-six metres and closing.'

Alaster's attacker chittered angrily. It ripped its claws from the dirt. He rolled to his feet. It looked at him. It sprang. Alaster got a clearer look at it. It was an ugly mass of chitin plate and long, clawed arms. A Tyranid Warrior.

'Team Karo – report status.' Kodos's voice crackled in Alaster's ears.

'Contact with enemy, Sergeant' Alaster reported. 'At least two, maybe more.' The thing swung at him. He dodged the claws. 'Full disposition of enemy forces unknown.' A claw scraped off a tree. Bark fragments showered the ground.

'Keep fighting,' Kodos ordered. 'We'll be with you in moments.'

He heard a thump from somewhere else. More chittering with it. Nasty reported, 'I have contact – uh!'

Alaster was close to the attacking alien – too close. He ducked another claw-sweep. It brushed a shoulder pad. He heard a scrape. The claw had scored off a line of paint. 'Report, Brother!' he barked into the comm.

'One Warrior, engaging at close range,' Nasty grunted. 'It's knocked my weapons away. I'm arm-wrestling the skakker!'

Alaster turned on one leg, kicking with his other. His foot connected with Tyranid. With satisfaction, he felt and heard something crunch under his boot. The xeno staggered back.

Behind it, he saw the muzzle-flash of a bolt pistol in the distance. He saw a Nid hurled backward, a plume of gore spraying from it. 'Target destroyed,' reported Patreus.

'Help Nasty!' Alaster ordered.

'Right on it, Brother.' Patreus turned and sprinted in Nasty's direction.

The Warrior focused on Alaster. Its eyes shone in the moonlight. Its gaze offered a hungry malice. Alaster shuddered.

He brought up his bolt pistol. The monster threw itself at him. It collided with the front of his gun. Alaster's arm was snapped back by the impact. He was knocked backwards – his backpack smacked into a tree.

The impact knocked his breath out. Alaster gasped. He was momentarily winded.

The monster chittered at him. It raised a claw. The sharp edge glinted silvery-blue in the planet-light. It descended-

The xeno leaned forwards. Alaster tightened his trigger finger. The bolt pistol held beside his waist barked. His aim wasn't good but at this range, it didn't need to be. The monster stumbled back, ichor spraying from its chest. Its alien blood splashed over Alaster's right side. He shot again. The monster staggered back, a fresh plume erupting from elsewhere on its chest.

Alaster thumbed his chainsword into life. He swept the blade up and inwards. It bit into the xeno's flesh. Alaster dragged it up, against the resistance. The blade growled, spinning hard. Alien tissue was ripped from the body. Ichor gushed out.

Alaster ripped the blade free.

The monster staggered back. It toppled over, laying there twitching on the leaf-litter. Alaster brought his bolt pistol up. He finished it off with two neat, surgical shots.

'One xeno down,' Alaster reported.

He ducked into cover behind a tree, scanning around. He couldn't see any more xenos. He looked toward Patreus and Nasty. Just as he did he heard a chainblade's whir and the crunch of broken chitin. Moments later, the blade stopped.

'Xeno destroyed,' Patreus reported with satisfaction.

'Thanks, Brother,' Nasty said.

'Hey – you're injured!'

'No, get off, that's nothing-'

Alaster sprinted over to them. Nasty was trying to wave Patreus away from a gash on his right arm. The alien had got him in one of the weak points of his armour, the opening inside of the elbow guard. It had sliced through the undersuit below. Dark blood was dribbling out.

'That's not nothing,' Alaster said. 'Here, let's see.' He took Nasty's arm to examine the wound.

Patreus jerked his bolt pistol up, pointing it over Alaster's head. 'Hey, watch out – oh. Sergeant. It's you.'

Kodos had appeared at their side. Team Eorvan was fanning out into the trees around them. 'Let's see this,' he said. 'Patreus, Alaster, cover us.'

'Yes Sergeant,' the two Ravens said. They both stepped back. They took up positions on opposite sides of Kodos and Nasty, scanning the trees. Alaster sneaked a glance back. Kodos had produced an auspex from one of his pouches. He was running it over the wound.

He nodded. He replaced it in the pouch. 'It's minor,' he reported. 'A skin break only. None of the tendons are damaged. See – the flow's staunching already.'

'Told you I was okay,' Nasty put in.

'Brother Shepherd. In one of your pouches you'll have a tube of sealant. Get it out. Patch that gash in your suit. Then get back to duty. Oh, and for the Emperor's sake, pick your gear up! You need them, the ground doesn't.' Kodos pointed at Nasty's weapons, lying in the dirt.

'Yes Sergeant,' Nasty said, sounding a little embarrassed.

Kodos looked at Nasty's breastplate. The eagle gleamed in the planet-light. 'Oh,' he added, 'get that thing mudded again. It must've got washed off when you took a dunking.'

Nasty looked down. 'Skak. I didn't even notice!'

'Brother, that might be how the bugs saw your team.' Kodos suddenly sounded old. Old and tired. 'I know this is your first combat deployment – but let's have a few less of these school-boy errors, okay? And Karo – that goes for you as well.' He didn't need to point out that. Alaster should have been watching out for these sorts of things.

Alaster felt chastened. He suspected he might be blushing under his helmet. 'Yes Sergeant,' he said. It seemed being in command was not an easy thing, even at this low level.

'Right, now that's sorted, we need to recce this area…'

A few more tense minutes passed as the area was searched. The marines took to cover, moving through the deepest shadows. They combed the lakeside with chainswords ready. They didn't find any more Nids. They returned to the lakeside, the marines all taking up stations in cover.

Kodos gathered his team leaders. Eorvan and Alaster crouched in front of him, behind a dense bush.

'Okay,' Kodos told them, 'this is what I think's going on.' He pointed toward one of the gashes. 'We need to go that way. We were going that way, till we met the Nids here. I don't think this little fight is any sort of coincidence. I think we're rumbled.'

'But the Gargoyles,' Alaster protested, 'they didn't see us.'

'They didn't _react_ to us,' Eorvan told him. The older marine looked straight at Alaster as he corrected the mistake. Alaster noticed Eorvan's helmet had a long dent running over its right side. It went from just above his right eye, up close to the reinforced crest and then disappeared over the brow.

'Eorvan is right,' Kodos said. 'I suspect the flight may've seen us – but it carefully didn't show it. Who'd've thought – the bugs can act.'

'Or possibly there was another flight we didn't see,' Eorvan said.

'Or something staying very still along the banks, in the undergrowth,' Kodos noted. 'Anyway, it doesn't really matter. However it did it, the Hive Mind's figured out which way we're going. I don't think it knows why we're going that way – otherwise I reckon we'd be under all-out attack by now.'

Alaster looked at the lake beyond them. 'Those Warriors,' he said, 'they were sentries, weren't they?'

Kodos nodded. 'Correct. I reckon the Nids expected us to go underwater, across the lake. It makes sense – that outlet over there is right along our path. And if we go under water, we might expect not to be seen.'

'Ripples,' Eorvan put in.

'Right,' Kodos agreed. 'Ripples. The lake's probably deeper than a Marine – but I don't reckon by much. If we did we'd leave some sort of wake. The Warriors were watching for that. That's how you got so close to them.'

'Of course,' Alaster realised. 'They attacked after we got between them and the lake – they were facing the wrong way. They didn't see us approach!'

Grudgingly, Kodos said, 'I suppose Shepherd might be off the hook, then. One less thing for me to write into my report later, I suppose.'

Alaster stared at the lake and its two outlets. 'So they were keeping watch – but to do what?'

'Ambush,' Eorvan said.

Kodos nodded. He pointed to the outlet they would have taken. 'The sides are steep. There's little room to manoeuvre. It probably opens out, further down. But in the meantime it funnels you straight onto their guns. Or claws, whatever the case is. It's a textbook ambush site. No, I'm in no doubt now. There'll be bugs waiting for us that way.'

Alaster felt a sense of apprehension. How were they going to deal with this? An unknown force of unknown size, lying in wait. It didn't sound like things favoured the Ravens this night. 'So how do we get past?' he asked.

'Simple,' Kodos said, 'we're going round.' He pointed to the far side of the left bank. 'It looks like the ground rises up behind the trees, over there. We should be able to find a way around the scarp. In fact, if we do this right, we may turn the ambush on the bugs.'

*

Alaster was at the top of the slope. He was lying flat behind some broken boulders before him. The lake was behind and to their right – and about forty feet straight down. In front of them was a roughly rectangular, flat rocky area. There wasn't much cover up here, aside from the boulders. Alaster was crawling forward on his stomach. Standing up wasn't a good plan here – getting outlined against the sky was a good way to get shot.

Nasty and Patreus were behind him, in their respective positions. Kodos, Eorvan, Sandrer and Fegust were further along the escarpment. Behind and below them, the lake gleamed placidly in the planet-light. They sky was clearer now. The rain had largely stopped. The wind no longer rattled and moaned the trees. The new silence was not reassuring, though. Glancing down and behind, on the trees around the lake, Alaster couldn't help but think of dead fingers jutting up in rigor mortis.

They moved forward. Ahead of them, there was another slope. This one descended into a sort of box-like valley. The gash was a constant presence to their side. Alaster noted it was widening. He knew the river flowed out of it, into the valley beyond.

Alaster crawled forward, into the cover of another boulder.

In front of him, the slope became steeper. To their left, a new ridge of rock rose up, running off toward the horizon. In front, Alaster could see the river again. It was surrounded by wide banks. There were even trees growing down there. It was the valley – the place where they were expecting an ambush.

The Ravens spread out along the higher ground, looking out for signs of the enemy.

'I see them,' Sandrer reported. 'They're scattered amongst the trees, on this bank.'

Alaster looked. They were, too. Dark shapes, lurking between the trees. If he looked closely he could see the glint of light on their eyes. They were watching the river intently. It seemed Kodos's suspicion was correct.

'What have we got?' Kodos asked.

Alaster looked carefully. The Tyranids appeared to have grouped into several clusters. Nearest them was a collection of Termagants. The things seemed restless. They kept shifting about. Further behind them, in the middle-distance and beside the shore was a swarm of Rippers. Amongst the trees between the two groups, Alaster made out a line of bulbous, jellyfish-like shapes. More spore mines. There was a thicket of dead bushes between them and the river. Alaster realised they'd be hard to see from the water.

'Termagants, Rippers and spore mines,' Alaster reported. 'Termagants nearest, Rippers furthest away, mines in the middle but set back.'

'Hmm,' Kodos said. 'I think I see what they've planned. They reckoned we'd come up from the river – the Rippers'd rush us from behind. Drive us onto the mines. What's the betting they're acid, I wonder?'

'I reckon pretty good, Sergeant,' Eorvan said.

'I agree, Brother-Corporal. And once we're out of the water, we'd make for those bushes. Cover – except they have mines behind 'em. Bang. At best that only wrecks our organisation. More likely it kills some of us. Then the Termagants arrive to finish off the survivors. I don't think I like this Hive Mind. This is starting to feel like a game of chess. It's a bit too smart.'

'Lucky then,' Eorvan said with triumph in his voice, 'we're not coming out of the river.'

'Checkmate,' Kodos agreed.

'Sergeant.' It was Fegust this time. Alaster blinked – Fegust had been quiet for some time. Alaster had almost forgotten he was there.

'What, Brother?'

'There's something further on, beyond the Rippers. Look!'

Alaster peered out into the darkness. Even with the planetshine it was hard to be sure. The trees and the rocks down below obscured many details. But it did seem there was something – yes! Alaster saw it move. A peculiar shape, like a sort of chitinous comma. Alaster realised the top of it was a vast, bulbous head. An atrophied, tail-laike body hung limply below it. The tip just brushed the ground. The body wasn't supporting the head – the bizarre creature seemed to be floating in the air.

'Zoanthrope,' hissed Kodos. 'It's facing the river – thank the Emperor for that! Lads, that thing needs taking out. Karo, Eorvan, get over here – we need to do some planning!'

Kodos and the two fireteam heads retreated behind a large boulder for a quick discussion. Several options were discussed. They tried to see if they could avoid a fight. They considered going around the obstacle. The terrain beyond the ridge ruled that out. The rockface fell off sharply into an impenetrable thicket of bushes and ground-vines. Going that way, they wouldn't make the rendezvous in time.

Alaster suggested going back to the river. 'We could try crawling along the bottom of it. Not dignified but if they don't see us…'

Eorvan pointed toward the river. 'See where the Rippers are? And the rocks breaking the water?' Alaster looked. There were. Jagged shapes, sticking up amongst silvery froth. The rocks were outlined in silver against the night-time darkness. 'It must gets shallower there. Hence the Rippers – we'd have to surface.'

'Oh,' Alaster said. He was impressed by Eorvan's near-instinctive assessment of the geography.

Kodos spoke. 'We have to fight. Can't be avoided. So we need to work out what we're going to do…'

A plan emerged rapidly. Alaster's team would go out along the ridge on the right. They'd stay just below the ridge line, out of sight. They'd move behind the Nids, climbing down into the tree-cover beyond the Zoanthrope. While they did that, the others would start rolling boulders downhill, like they had earlier in the day. Eorvan would try and snipe a couple of spore mines. Potting them with a pistol was unlikely at this range, but you didn't need to physically-strike a spore mine to set if off. A big enough disturbance nearby would do – a bolt hitting dirt could do it. With any luck they could disorient the Nids, long enough for Alaster and his team to take down the Zoanthrope.

'I'll be coming with you,' Kodos added to Alaster.

Once the decision was made, things happened fast. Eorvan and his marines moved into position. Alaster watched them go as they quietly slipped toward their designated boulders. They were starting with the four largest, dotted around the top of the slope. They'd move onto the smaller ones as they were needed. The largest would do the most damage. It made sense to start with them. Alaster and his team had to wait – this was a key part of the fight. If Eorvan and his team were spotted as they moved into place, they'd need every man to fight the Nid horde.

The Ravens moved silently and swiftly. The Nids below showed no hint of awareness as they slipped into place. Within moments, Sandrer, Fegust and Eorvan were in place.

Kodos's helmet turned to Alaster. He moved a hand, holding up four fingers and pointing to the ridge. Time to go. Alaster nodded and signalled the other marines. His hand was tight around his bolt pistol. He was aware of the dry, metallic tang of the air from his rebreather. He could feel the weight of the chainsword in his other hand.

They moved over to the ridge. Just beyond it was a shallow shelf of rock, running along its edge. The shelf was set a few feet down from the crest of the ridge. This was key to the Ravens' plan. Behind it, they could move unobserved.

They dropped to hands and knees. Alaster had to holster his bolt pistol and stash his sword behind his backpack again. The marines moved in single file, crawling along the shelf. On one side Alaster had the crest of the ridge. On the other was a sheer drop, into the wild land beyond. He didn't have more then three feet of space to move in. He had to be careful. In this situation, being a big Space Marine was as much of a hindrance as a help.

The edge of the shelf was sharp in the silvery planetshine. Alaster kept his eyes on it as they moved forward. He could feel his hearts beating. He was tense. Candidly, Alaster had to admit he didn't like this. He'd been involved in hatching this plan. If it went wrong, it would be partly his fault.

They seemed to have been moving for ages. The chronometer on his HUD claimed it had been less than three minutes. Surely they had to be in place by now?

Alaster felt a tap on his shoulder. Kodos. He paused, looking behind him. Kodos pointed to the battlement of rock alongside them. Alaster nodded.

Very carefully, he peered over the rim.

Down below he could see the roughly box-like confines of the valley. There were all the leafless trees. There in front and on his right were the shallows, the silvery foam glittering over the black water. There were the dark shapes of the rocks, protruding through. He saw the Rippers, a shifting mass near the water.

Closer, he saw the freakish shape of the Zoanthrope. Stubby horns protruded along its bulbous head. Its long tail brushed the floor but it didn't seem to be stood on it. As he watched, it bobbed up and down, like a tethered balloon. Moments later Alaster felt the wind as it brushed over his armour. The creature appeared to be somehow floating.

The Zoanthrope was facing away from them. It was watching the river intently.

Alaster looked back to Kodos. He held his fingers up in the 'OK' sign. Kodos nodded. He gestured Nasty and Patreus up to the crest. Kodos looked back toward the far end of the valley. Alaster couldn't see Eorvan or the others but he knew they were there, waiting to play their role.

'Bring the storm, Brothers,' Kodos said.

That was the key to begin the operation. At the valley's other end, three big boulders suddenly began to roll downhill. Alaster heard the distant grinding sound as they crunched over smaller stones. The boulders gained speed as they moved. Alaster caught a glimpse of one of his brothers as the Raven dived toward another rock.

A second round of boulders followed the first.

The noise and movement had caught the Nids' attention. Distracted from the river, the mass of Termagants seethed and boiled in visible confusion. The first of the boulders was rumbling toward the valley. The Termagants hastily withdrew from its path.

On the clifftop, a man leaned from cover. Alaster saw the muzzle flash of a bolt pistol. Eorvan. It was a long way but he was firing at the spore mines. Nothing happened from the first shot. There were two more flashes.

The first boulder rolled into the valley. It hit something – a stump, Alaster saw. It wobbled to one side. It squashed a couple of surprised Termagants. Two more boulders were just behind it. The aliens moved back toward the bushes and the mines.

There was another muzzle flash. Alaster saw a puff of dirt. The bolt hit the ground by the mines. For a moment, nothing happened. Then one of the translucent bags swelled up. It burst in a disgustingly organic explosion. A foam of acid sprayed out in all directions. Some of it splashed onto the nearby Termagants.

Alaster heard the sudden xeno wail. He smiled inside his helmet. Good shot, Brother Eorvan!

There was movement near the shore. The Rippers were surging forward, along the riverside. It seemed the Nids were getting over their confusion.

'Time for us to move,' Kodos said. 'They're distracted now.'

The four Space Marines slipped up and over the crest. The rockface beyond wasn't sheer. It was pocked, scratched and cracked. There were handholds. The rock was dark in colour – the Ravens wouldn't be prominent against it. Hand over hand, the marines climbed down.

It seemed to take ages but it was only really moments. Alaster let go for the last foot, dropping to the earth below. He bent his knees as he landed. There was a large, leafless skeleton of a bush next to him. He dropped behind it for a moment, surveying the land beyond.

On the slope, the last of the decent-sized boulders were rolling down. The Nids seemed to realise it. Alaster saw the Termagants were massing at the bottom. He saw some little spurts of movement – some of them were firing their gun-like symbiotes. The range was on the long side for the fleshborers but they shot anyway.

There was movement closer by. The Zoanthrope was turning, away from the river. It was looking toward the slope. It lifted from the ground. Its tail hung down, a clear gap between it and the leaf-strewn dirt below.

Little glowing sparks crackled over the alien. A glowing ball of light formed in front of it. The ball expanded. Alaster could hear it, crackling and fizzing like plasma. The creature twitched.

The ball shot forwards, extending into a streak. Like a bolt of lightning, it sprang toward the hillside. The thing was using one of its psychic weapons. Alaster's head jerked round to track the glow. It was fast. The bolt dwindled to a spark as it flew away. The spark hit the hillside.

Alaster saw and heard the explosion. A sudden pulse of light irised out, like an expanding shockwave. He saw a stream of smaller rocks, hurled in front of it. And-

A familiar shape.

Alaster saw one of his brothers, hurled head over heels. The marine was picked up and batted away by the shockwave. He hit the ground some yards back and was still. It all happened in chilling silence. Alaster realised his heart was in his mouth. Who was it? Which of his brothers had just been hurt?

'Right, that's our cue,' Kodos said, tone grim. 'That alien skakker dies. Now.'

The four Storm Ravens raised their bolt pistols. Together, they shot at the Zoanthrope.

Muzzles flashed. Pistols roared. Bolts streaked through the air. They converged on the alien – and there were four little explosions, barely a foot from the creature. Alaster stared. What the skak? He sighted down the pistol and shot again.

This time he saw it. An instant before the bolt exploded, it seemed to hit something. There was a little ripple, like a heathaze. 'There's a shield,' he reported.

The Zoanthrope whipped around. Its movement was snakelike. Suddenly its head pointed at them. Another glow appeared-

'EVERYONE DOWN!' Kodos shouted.

Alaster threw himself to the ground. An instant later, a glow passed above him. It hit the rockface behind them. He felt the ground shake. He heard a roar. Little chips of broken rock rattled off his suit.

He looked up. The creature was aiming again. A glow appeared.

'FORWARD!' Kodos shouted.

Alaster leapt to his feet, sprinting forwards. The other marines were following. Instinctively, he saw Kodos's plan. If they stayed still, the creature would get them, but if they ran underneath its line of fire-

A glowing psychic bolt passed harmlessly overhead.

The Ravens were converging on the xeno. Alaster unlimbered his chainsword, thumb on the activation switch. 'Go round it!' he shouted. 'Attack it from all sides! It can't target us all at once.'

'Do what Karo says,' Kodos confirmed. Alaster felt a momentary surge of pride.

As he closed on the monster, he could see its shield. It was there, a slight distortion in the air around it. A circle of grass beneath it was flattened. As it bobbed up and down, the circle shrank and grew. Alaster realised it was held aloft by its psychic powers. It occurred to him he should have known that.

He thought he should pay more attention in briefing sessions.

They were almost at the monster. Alaster swiped his chainsword at it. He felt resistance as it hit the shield. Sparks flew from the blade.

The creature bobbed up. It turned its head down at its attackers. Alaster looked up, staring straight into its eyes. He brought his bolt pistol up-

An enormous force smote him from below. Pain flared across his chest. Alaster felt himself lifted up. He was flung backwards.

The world spun around him.

He hit the ground on his left side. Dead leaves sprayed up. He rolled onto his back. He felt stunned. His head rang. Groggily, Alaster tried to pull himself upright. His chest still hurt.

Half-sitting, he looked down. There was blood on his breastplate – human blood. He stared. There was a jagged break – one of the overlapping plates over his stomach had been twisted up. Blood was dribbling out from below it. Something had punched up, sliding in beneath the plate.

'KARO! LOOK UP!' It was Kodos.

Alaster looked. The Zoanthrope – it was gliding toward him! He saw its tail – it narrowed into a spike. He noticed it was splashed with blood. His, he realised. He saw how he'd been injured – it must have swung that tail up at him. Looking at that barbed horror, Alaster was struck with new respect for his armour's Machine Spirit. Forget about being hurt – he should have been gutted like a fish.

The others were firing at the xeno from behind. Their shots bounced off its shield. Alaster groped for his chainsword – it lay nearby. The monster was almost on him. Suddenly he had an idea.

'Shoot at the same spot!' he yelled. 'Overload the shield!'

'The middle of its back!' Kodos shouted. 'With me!'

Bolt pistols roared. Three bolts converged.

There was a bright flash. Ripples surged around the Zoanthrope. It staggered, wobbling from side to side. 'Again!' Kodos yelled.

Alaster reached for his pistol. His hands closed on the grip. He brought it up. As the others shot at the creature's back, Alaster shot at its front. The shield was hit by four bolts at once.

A ripple of lightning flared around the creature, surrounding it in a bluish-white egg ovoid. The marines fired again. The ovoid flared and collapsed.

The monster jerked and tumbled to the ground. Its carapace was streaked and burnt. A smell of burnt meat filled the air. Feebly, it tried to rise. Pain briefly forgotten, Alaster struggled to his feet. Chainsword in hand, he stumbled over to the thing. He began hacking away at it. Ichor and chitin-fragments sprayed out. Three other chainswords joined him. The air was filled with their roar. Moments later, the Zoanthrope was no more then a heap of shredded wreckage. It expired with a last, resentful hiss.

The other Nids released a chittering wail.

'Right,' Kodos said, 'the others need our help. Karo – stay back. Confine yourself to shooting – you're in no state for close combat!'

Alaster looked down at his chest. The bleeding had stopped but it looked a mess. It throbbed with pain. 'Yes Sergeant,' he said.

'Nasty, you're with me in the lead. Patreus, Karo, cover for us. Now move!'

The marines sprinted forward, toward the mass of Rippers and Termagants. Without the Zoanthrope, the aliens seemed confused. The Rippers finally spotted the charging Space Marines. They swarmed toward them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alaster caught a movement. One remaining spore mine – it was between them and the Rippers. He raised his bolt pistol. His hand felt shaky – the pain from his chest wasn't helping his concentration. Still, he sighted down it. He stopped running. He lined the notched up. He pulled the trigger.

The muzzle flashed. A moment later, the spore mine exploded. Acid sprayed over the on-coming Rippers. Their chittering declind into a dying gargle.

'Nice shot, Karo,' Kodos said, grudgingly. 'Now let's fix those skakking Termagants!'

As the Ravens ploughed into the waiting aliens, they were joined by two figures running down then hill. Alaster recognised Eorvan by the dent on his helmet. He wasn't sure whether the other was Fegust or Sandrer.

Four Space Marines set about the milling Termagants with chainsword and pistol. Alaster hung back as ordered, sniping where he could. The air was filled with the sounds of combat. Bolt pistols cracked. Chainswords growled. Kodos's plasma pistol made its distinctive _hiss-crackle_. Everywhere Nids were ripped to pieces.

Numerically, the Space Marines were outnumbered – but not by that many. The boulders had taken their toll. Although still a mass, the Termagants were a distinctly ragged mass. In addition, the Marines were stronger, faster and far less confused. It was all over quickly. In a matter of minutes, the Space Marines were stood amongst a field littered with alien corpses.

'Okay,' Kodos said with satisfaction, 'we won. Good. Now we need to sort out the casualties.' He looked at Alaster, then up the hill. 'Walking wounded will have to wait, I'm afraid.'

The other casualty was brought down from the hillside by Kodos, Eorvan and Nasty. It turned out to be Fegust. It wasn't as bad as Alaster had feared. The Raven was still alive. He was even still conscious. However, he was confused and incoherent. Onc they got his helmet off, they saw his pupils were dilated. It suggested concussion. He'd taken a knock on the head during his tumble – there was already bruising. Alaster watched the first aid with a growing feeling of tension.

Kodos got out the auspex, linking it to the medical systems in Fegust's suit. 'Hmm,' he said, peering at the readout. 'Several broken bones. And it's hard to tell for sure, but there might be internal bleeding.'

Patreus, stood nearby, said, 'That doesn't sound good.'

'Depends on where and how much,' Kodos said. 'We're pretty tough. I'm more worried about that concussion – how bad was that knock on the head?'

Nasty spoke up. 'If his brain's been scrambled, how could you tell?'

It was a tasteless remark. It was a cheap, insulting shot at someone who was in no state to defend themselves. It was also, somehow, hilarious. Alaster found himself laughing with a manic energy. So were Sandrer and Eorvan. Patreus was standing there, arms out like he'd just been shocked.

As Alaster got his breath back, he realised the tension had been released. Nasty had done the right thing. They were all tense, they were all concerned for their injured brother and – yes – they were all worried about how the rest of this mission was going to go. A brief moment of levity was exactly what they needed. Gallows humour it may have been, but it was still humour.

Kodos put the auspex away. 'We can't do much now,' he said. 'We're just going to have to carry him with us. Patreus, Sandrer, Shepherd – get some branches. Try and rig up a stretcher. You can tie it together with Nid muscle. Wash the cords off so they don't smell so much. Karo, you're turn. Get over here.'

While the others were busy Kodos examined Alaster. 'There's good news,' he said. 'You're just scratched. Nothing that won't grow back. You'll be ready to fight again by morning.' He pointed at the gash in Alaster's chest armour. 'Now get cleaned up and patch that hole.'

'Yes Sergeant!' Alaster said.

He went to the water side and washed himself off first. His armour was splattered with mud, dried Nid ichor and his own blood. He watched it wash off, a foul stain flowing away downstream. Once that was done, he used a cloth to clean out the wound. He washed it with a bottle of antiseptic from one of his pouches. His boosted immune system should be able to handle any secondary infection – but it didn't do to take chances. Lastly he set about making some quick field-repairs to his suit.

When Alaster was finished, the others had just finished making the stretcher. They had gutted the Nid carcasses, using their long, ropey muscle-tendons as bindings for the branches. The structure looked ramshackle and it creaked as they loaded Fegust onto it, but it held together.

Kodos spoke briefly to his team heads. 'This complicates things,' he said. 'It's going to take two to carry that thing – Nasty and Sandrer get first shift. I want the remaining brothers spread around the stretcher-bearers – that's you two, Patreus and me. That's four so two on each side, spaced back. Karo, you take Patreus, since he's one of yours. Eorvan, you're with me.'

'Yes Sergeant,' they said.

The stretcher was a serious limitation. With it, they couldn't use the river. Steep terrain would be a problem too. Alaster had a bad feeling about this. Still, the squad moved out. Fegust lay still on the stretcher. Someone had replaced his helmet, to limit any scent.

Alaster signalled Patreus and they moved into position. Kodos and Eorvan took up their places. Nasty and Sandrer picked up the stretcher. They began walking. It was tense and slow-going. The stretcher reduced their pace. Its load was heavy and difficult to manoeuvre. Still, there was no question of ditching it. The Storm Ravens didn't abandon their own. Alaster just hoped Fegust was going to be all right. His body might well repair itself. He might be back on his feet soon enough. There wasn't anything Alaster could do except hold onto the hope.

As they moved the terrain changed. The valley widened. It sloped down hill. Up ahead, the cliffs on either side curved away. Looking between the trees, Alaster got the impression of a wide plain opening out ahead of them.

Kodos signalled for them to slow down. He pointed to Alaster and then to himself. Then he pointed forward. Alaster nodded. They were to go ahead and survey the terrain.

Dropping to all fours, the two marines moved forward. They crawled through the cover of dead bushes and rotten tree trunks. The taint of the Nids was everywhere. The air was damp and musty with decay. Majoris had moved overhead in the sky. The sky was quite cloudless now. The stars twinkled. They were blurry and smeared, quite unlike the clear skies Alaster was used to from Delta. Kodos had mentioned something about a Nid ship crashing and messing up the climate. Alaster wondered if the excessive twinkling was connected. He supposed too much rubbish in the upper atmosphere might have that effect.

The trees were thinning out. Alaster's suspicion was correct – beyond them lay a wide grassland. The cliffs curved away on either side to the north and south. The land beyond was flat. The river ran out into the grassland. To the south there were more trees but on this side the land was open. The grass rippled in the wind.

'We need to go that way,' Kodos said quietly, pointing ahead of them. To the east, Alaster knew.

He looked into the grassland. He saw movement. 'What's that?' he pointed.

'Oh skak,' breathed Kodos. 'That's not grass.'

Alaster stared. Kodos was right. What he'd taken for grass, rippling in the wind – it was actually a mass of Nids! A vast swarm of Rippers! The grassland was flooded with the horrors! Behind them, Alaster could now see the shapes of bigger Tyranids. 'They're here,' he breathed.

He could hear them now, a faint susurration echoing up from the plain. It was composed of thousands of alien monsters, chittering and hissing hungrily together.

'We need to go back,' Kodos said. 'We're going to have to go round. No way can we fight through that!'

They returned to the others. 'The plain is a mass of Nids,' Kodos said bluntly. 'We can't go that way. We're going to cross the river, swing south through the woods. We might still make the rendezvous that way.'

The others took the news with professional calm. Alaster suddenly felt proud of Nasty and Patreus. They seemed to be handling the bad news almost better than he was.

They took up the stretcher and made their way toward the river.

The trees stopped a few yards short of the water. Alaster could hear the water, hissing and chattering in its bed. It was wider here then in the valley but shallower too. Sandrer and Nasty set out into the water, carrying Fegust's stretcher. Alaster and the sergeant accompanied them, just behind and on either side. The water didn't rise above Alaster's sabatons. He kept scanning the woods, hands tight around his weapons. Behind them Patreus and Eorvan followed, covering their rear.

They were halfway across the water when it happened.

There was a flash of movement. 'Hey!' Nasty shouted. The stretcher spasmed. Suddenly it was jerked from their hands. It spun. Fegust was thrown off. He splashed limply into the water. Alaster saw the stretcher as it was pulled through the air toward the far bank. He just caught some thin, rope-like strands leading taught from it.

The stretcher hit the mud on the other side. Something evil sprang from the bushes. It landed with an audible thud. Dead leaves were thrown into the air beside its chitinous hooves.

'Lictor!' yelled Kodos. 'Watch those flesh hooks!'

Alaster reckoned this horror was twice as big as he was. It waved a pair of vast mandibles in the air. It stabbed them angrily into the stretcher. They heard the wood splinter and crack. Bits flew away. It had meant to grab a Marine, Alaster realised.

Nasty and Sandrer were trying to lift Fegust out of the water.

The creature's head turned toward them. Beneath its face hung a mess of barbed tendrils – the hooks. Organic harpoons, Alaster thought. It lifted its head, as if aiming at the Ravens.

Nasty and Sandrer seemed oblivious.

'Nasty!' Alaster yelled. 'Heads up! It's aiming at you!'

Nasty's head jerked up. He looked round. The creature fired. Nasty flung himself down, on top of Sandrer and Fegust.

The meaty tendrils shot harmlessly over their heads. The creature roared angrily. Suddenly hopeful, Alaster squeezed a shot off after it. A tracer streaked brightly from his bolt pistol. He stared, for a moment baffled. Then he remembered. Skak! He'd run out of ammunition! He'd been taught to put a tracer second to last in the magazine, so he'd know when to change. Alaster fired one more shot then he hastily changed the magazine.

Somewhere, a chainsword whined.

As he fumbled with the magazine, Nasty and Sandrer had got to their feet. They were dragging Fegust with them, running back to the others.

There was movement in the trees beyond. Alaster looked up, bringing his bolt pistol up. He stared, horrified, as another Lictor sprinted from the bushes. The two aliens paused on the shore, regarding the marines. Their black shapes were outlined against the trees in the silver planetshine.

The chainsword whir was louder. Alaster looked around, suddenly puzzled. None of the squad had their blades engaged.

One of the Lictors lunged forward. Alaster snapped off a shot at it. A little spray of ichor leapt from its face. The creature staggered backwards.

The whine was getting louder. Alaster became aware of another sound – a chittering susurration. He looked down the river, toward the plain. Oh no – he could see a wave of Rippers, sweeping toward them. 'Sergeant,' he said, 'you'd better see this!'

'I know, lad, I know,' Kodos said grimly. 'The Lictors've brought their friends. The ambush – all it was ever for was to hold us up. Give this lot time to arrive. We were never really meant to lose there. That's why they didn't put sentries by the ridge. Skak. We've been double-bluffed – by skakking bugs!'

'What do we do, Sergeant?'

'We fight,' Kodos said, sounding resigned. 'Take as many of them as we can.'

Alaster stared at the tide of aliens. 'There's rather a lot of them, Sergeant.'

'I had noticed,' Kodos replied. 'For what it's worth, it's been nice knowing you, Brother.'

The Lictors moved forward. To Alaster's horror, a third one emerged from the bushes! He hazarded a glance the other way. The Rippers were closer. The truth suddenly came home to Alaster with the force of a punch.

They were going to die.

He swallowed but he forced himself to show no emotion. 'Yes Sergeant,' he said. Kodos looked at him and then nodded, just once. He raised his chainsword in a brief salute, then looked away. Alaster reminded himself that he'd always known this might happen – would happen, one day. He thought briefly of that day, back on Delta, at the school, when his life had changed forever. He reminded himself of those sad little plaques in the Principal's office, little glossy tokens of a wasted life. He reminded himself this wasn't futile. Even if they only held up the Nids for a while, that would matter. It would buy time for someone else, somewhere else. He'd come this far – he wasn't going to fail now. They'd failed once already on this planet, back at the outpost – he wasn't going to do it again.

Alaster looked resolutely back toward the enemy. The Lictors were eyeing their prey from the other bank. Alaster felt his lip curl in genuine loathing for these alien beasts.

The whine was getting still louder. A shadow swept over the water. Alaster looked up – just in time to see the shape of a landspeeder pass overhead!

He stared, open-mouthed. It stopped, a few yards to his left and twenty feet above. Then it dropped sharply, to just a yard above the water. The heavy bolter roared. Rotary muzzles flashed brightly in the night.

The Lictor nearest screamed. Ichor fountained from its chest. It fell back, dead. The landspeeder turned. It opened fire on the next one. The third alien turned and fled back into the trees.

The heavy bolter fell silent.

Alaster looked at the landspeeder. Now that Majoris was free of cloud, he could see that it was painted an ice-gray. On its side it bore a symbol, a sort of yin-yang of black and white wolves' heads, mounted over a red cog-shape. There were two Space Marines sat in the landspeeder's cockpit. They wore grey armour. One of each of their shoulder pads was yellow with the wolf-head device, the other had a jagged red and black pattern.

Alaster realised they were Space Wolves.

One of the marines looked at Alaster. He wore one of the older, Mark Six helmets. Around his neck was a cord with what looked like savage teeth hung from it. His breastplate wasn't marked with the eagle. Instead, it bore a golden wolf, running with legs outstretched. 'Well met, Brother,' the marine said. 'Hope you don't mind us dropping in. It looked like you needed a hand.'

Alaster gaped at their unexpected rescuers. 'Uh – not at all,' he said. 'Nice timing, by the way.'

'Thanks,' the marine said. 'I take it you're not Kodos?'

'No, sorry. Uh, that's him over there.' Alaster pointed at the sergeant on the bank.

He heard a loud whine. Another landspeeder dropped in beside the other. It carried two more Wolves. One of them leaned out of the side of his vehicle. 'Hey, Haakon,' he growled, 'what do you think you're doing? Leave some killing for us next time!' This marine, Alaster saw, also had something hung around his neck. It was a cord bearing a piece of black rock. A rune had been carved into it, a shape like an arrow, or an angular T.

The first Wolf – Haakon – turned his head to the new arrivals. 'Stop that whinging, Svein. If you can't keep up, you don't get any fun. It's your own fault!'

Alaster stared. He heard splashing beside him. Suddenly Kodos was at his side. 'I don't believe it,' Kodos said. He sounded disbelieving and delighted. 'By the Emperor! Svein Half-beard! How the hell are you?'

'Kodos!' Cut off in mid-grumble, the Wolf looked round. He sounded pleased too. 'Still too ugly to die, I see!'

Kodos laughed. 'You bet your skakking arse I am. Talking of which-' he pointed downstream '-we seem to have a little problem with thousands of angry Nids.'

Suddenly more sober, Svein agreed. 'So you do. Get your men together and climb on the wings. We're not hanging around.'

'We've got a casualty,' Kodos said.

Svein dug something out of the footwell. He threw Kodos a bundle of rope. 'Then tie him to the roof. Come on – you need to get out of here!'

The others were watching from the shore. Alaster saw the Rippers were closing on them. The others hurried over, carrying Fegust between them. Alaster climbed onto the stubby wing of the nearest landspeeder. It was steady under him.

The Ravens loaded Fegust onto the back of the other one, by the tail fin. The Rippers were close now. They were loud, hissing and clicking angrily. Sandrer and Kodos were tying Fegust into place.

'Quickly,' Svein told them.

Alaster waved Patreus and Nasty over. Nasty climbed onto the other wing of the landspeeder. Patreus climbed on top, holding onto the tail fin.

'By the way,' Haakon said, 'this is Eirik.' He pointed at the marine next to him.

'Greetings from Fenris,' Eirik said jovially. He wasn't wearing any charms around his neck but his breastplate bore a non-standard diamond decoration in the middle of the eagle's wings. Alaster was surprised by how much variety the Wolves' uniforms showed.

'I'm Alaster – Alaster Karo,' he said quickly. 'This is Brother Patreus.' He pointed.

'Uh, hello,' Patreus said, sounding bewildered.

'And on the other side is Brother Shepherd, though he'd rather be called Nasty.'

'No wonder,' Eirik said soberly. 'Brother Shepherd. That's a name to drive you to drink.'

'Thanks, Alaster.' There were daggers in Nasty's voice.

'What's wrong with being driven to drink?' Haakon asked, sounding puzzled. 'Surely it beats walking?'

Alaster looked over his shoulder. The Rippers were close now. He saw movement in the trees – the Lictor was back. 'Looks like the bugs want a pint too,' he said.

'Well they bloody well can't have mine,' Eirik growled.

'Okay,' Alaster heard Kodos report. 'We're secure.'

The Space Wolves needed no further prompting. With a whirr of their engines, the landspeeders rose up from the ground and into the sky. Moments later, the Rippers poured into the space they'd just vacated. With a powerful jerk, the landspeeders leapt forward into the sky.

Clinging onto the wing, Alaster watched the Tyranids dwindle into the distance.


	25. Chapter 25 Plan of Attack

'Wow,' breathed Patreus.

Brother Svein, helmet clipped to his belt and auburn braids hanging loose, was grinning. 'That's the _Ulfhednar_,' said the Grey Hunter, pointing proudly at the Land Raider. 'He's been with our company for two hundred years. The Iron Priests had him forged for our lord. It was their gift when he took command.'

The Land Raider was parked over by the trees. Under the splattered mud by its tracks, its sides were painted in the Space Wolves' blue-grey. Weapons bulged from its sides. Behind the lascannon sponsons and over the door-hatch were hung two round shields. They had prominent central bosses. One of them was painted with knotwork and the other with a swirling cross. On either side of each of them, two wicked-looking spears had been fastened to the bodywork.

Patreus was staring. 'Wolf Lords get good presents!'

Nasty, helmet tucked under one arm, was stood next to Alaster. He was giving Patreus a cynical look. He leaned over to Alaster. 'I think he's having tank envy,' he whispered.

Patreus glanced their way, irritated but not offended. 'But what a tank!' he said. 'It's an amazing machine!'

Svein beamed with pride, his parted lips revealing a pair of massive canines.

'He'll be bringing it flowers next,' Nasty said.

Alaster ran his eyes over the tank. He could see why Patreus was impressed. The _Ulfhednar_ was an imposing machine. Here and there the paintwork was scratched and the armour plate dented. The scars made the tank look all the more impressive. Decorated it may be but the _Ulfhednar_ was still a mighty engine of destruction.

He looked around the camp. The area was dense with trees – the _Ulfhednar_ was parked in one of the few gaps. The dense branches knotted overhead, blotting out the sky. The camp was well-concealed from overflights.

The rest of the camp was no less remarkable then the Land Raider. In between the trees, the Wolves had erected three longhouses. They were actually built around trees – Alaster had been inside one of them, just after they'd arrived the previous night. He'd been sent there to get his injuries looked at and his armour repaired. It hadn't been a long trip. By then, Alaster's body had already finished healing itself. The scar was almost gone and his chest wasn't sore anymore. As for his suit, that had been a quick fix with a couple of spare plates. The most difficult part had been finding an appropriately-coloured can of paint. The first time he'd come out of the longhouse, Kodos had taken one look at him and said he looked piebald.

The longhouse had been a noisy place, filled with Space Wolves. Some of them had been eating, a lot of them drinking, some of them were checking over their weapons and in the corner, one group had been sparring with each other. A circle of enthusiastic onlookers had formed. It was all quite surprising – for such a fast-built base, it seemed homely. Alaster was led to understand the Wolves were good at this sort of thing – apparently with all its tremors and storms, buildings on Fenris frequently had to be re-erected. They had lots of practise putting things up fast.

He looked around. It was busy outside the longhouses too. Marines moved back and forth amongst the trees. As Alaster watched, one of the landspeeders zoomed off with a quiet whine of its engines, disappearing into the woods on some errand. As it moved away Alaster got a flash of the Great Company's badge, the red cog with the yin-yang wolves inside it.

Suddenly overcome with curiosity, he spoke to Svein. 'What does that represent? If you don't mind me asking, that is?'

Svein blinked. 'The _Ulfhednar_?'

'No, I meant your crest.' Alaster pointed at Svein's right shoulder pad.

'That.' Svein brushed a lock of hair back. 'Well that's not much of a secret, is it? There'd be no point putting it in public if you didn't mind people asking.'

'That would be self-defeating,' Alaster agreed.

'The heraldry's pretty straightforward. Our lord works closely with the Adeptus Mechanicus. At first, not everyone in the Fang liked it. Some of the other Wolf Lords thought they were too close. But he doesn't see any shame in it – because there isn't – so when he was raised to the lordship, he gave us this crest.' Svein grinned toothily. 'The wolves' heads over a cog – the two groups working together. Let the critics growl if they want – I'm proud of my brothers. We've more than proved ourselves the last two hundred years.'

Nasty was watching. 'So what does all the red and black mean?'

'My other shoulder pad?' Svein pointed; Nasty nodded. 'The jagged shapes are our pack – squad – markings. A pack is for life – it's hardly ever dissolved, so we keep the same patterns as long as we serve. But the colours reflect your status, which is from your experience. Wolves start out as a Blood Claws – young, untried, short-fanged. Eager to prove themselves in battle.'

'A bit like our assault corps,' Patreus said.

'Similar, maybe,' Svein said, face diplomatically-polite. 'Sort of. Anyway, Blood Claws have yellow and red as their colours. But when a pack's proved itself and no-one doubts its skill, its warriors are raised to Grey Hunter. That's me, by the way. We get black and red.'

'Kind of like veteran status, I suppose,' Alaster said.

Svein reached up and gripped the runestone hanging from his neck. He looked thoughtful. 'Kind of,' he agreed. Alaster got the feeling Svein wasn't too keen on others comparing themselves to his army. Fair enough, he supposed. The Space Wolves were ancient. They'd been one of the Emperor's original Legions. Their reputation was a lot for anyone else to live up to. 'We get specialist training – like crewing vehicles, or piloting Thunderhawks. That sort of thing. We're older and wiser and cool-headed.' Svein looked alarmed, as if he'd said the wrong thing. 'Don't get me wrong, I still like cracking enemy skulls with my axe. It's just that I've learned it's not the only way to fight – and maybe not always the best, either.'

'Axes are fun,' Nasty said.

Svein beamed again. Anything to do with violence seemed to get that reaction from him. 'Well said, Brother!'

Patreus rolled his eyes but said nothing.

'So where do you go from there?' Alaster asked.

'Well the next stage is Long Fang – Wolves that old usually do have long fangs, too! Their colours are white and black. They get the heaviest weapons – they have the skill to use them wisely. Sadly our younger brothers probably don't. The final level is Wolf Guard – yellow and black.'

Alaster nodded. 'There's a squad – uh, pack – of them with us, isn't there?' He'd seen them around camp, impressive figures carrying massive guns.

'Just the one, yes,' Svein agreed. 'To be honest we could do with more – but needs must.'

'Hey,' Nasty said, 'are those the big guys who hang around with the Wolf Lord?'

Patreus winced. 'Nasty. They're called Terminators – because of their special armour. Were you paying _any_ attention in training?'

Nasty affected a hurt expression. 'Oi. Just because I'm not a clever-clogs like you!'

Svein looked at Alaster. 'Are they always like this?'

Alaster nodded. 'Most of the time. Don't worry – I'd be more worried if they weren't bickering.'

Patreus glared at Alaster this time. Nasty was ignoring them, busy eyeing the tank. He might have criticised Patreus earlier but Alaster could see Nasty wouldn't mind a ride in it if he could get one.

Svein snorted. 'But yes, he's right. The "big guys" are the Wolf Guard – the Wolf Lord's personal bodyguard. The toughest warriors in the Company. I tell you, watching them fight is amazing! A couple of weeks ago, we got attacked by a horde of Genesteelers. This was back in one of the cities. One of the Wolf Guard just stood there, ripping into them with his assault cannon. He got them all, too. The Blood Claws charged but when they arrived, there was just Nid-sludge everywhere. It was unbelievable!'

Alaster heard a hiss and a quiet whir of pistons. 'Heads up – sounds like the _Ulfhednar'_s opening up!'

The hatch at the back lowered to the ground. Moments later, boots sounded off the metal. Sgt Kodos walked out, accompanied by the Wolf Lord himself. Einar Thorbjornsson was an intimidating figure, even for a Space Marine. Snarling wolves' heads had been painted onto the knee pads of his Terminator armour. A massive wolf-pelt was draped over his shoulders. Given the size of the pelt, Alaster was glad he he'd never seen the thing it had come from. His breastplate was marked with a beautifully-crafted pair of yin-yang wolves over a cog – a large rendition of the Great Company's badge and a symbol of the Wolf Lord's personal authority. In one hand he carried a massive storm bolter. He held it nonchalantly, like it weighed nothing. Alaster still hadn't gotten over the presence of the Wolf Lord himself on this mission. It had brought home just how important this was.

Kodos saw the three of them. A cynical look crossed his face. 'Speak of the devils!' he said to Thorbjornsson. 'There they are, up to no good as usual!'

Thorbjornsson glanced at him. 'I'll leave you to brief your men, Sergeant. I need to speak with my Wolf Guard.'

Kodos nodded. 'As you wish, sir.' He saluted.

Thorbjornsson nodded with reserved politeness then strode off toward the nearest longhouse. Alaster caught a glimpse of the nearby Wolves snapping to attention. One of them, taken by surprise, dropped a flagon of ale. The formalities were undermined by the laughter of his packmates.

'Okay you lot, get over here,' Kodos said. 'Patreus, Nasty, stand guard. Karo, come with me.' He gestured to the Land Raider's open hatch. Alaster stared – they were going in there?

'Why do we have to stand around?' Nasty moaned.

'Because you're not good for anything else, that's why,' Kodos snapped back. Alaster blinked. Looking carefully, he noted a hint of tension around Kodos's eyes. Something had the sergeant preoccupied.

He followed Kodos inside the Land Raider. It was darker there. It took his eyes a moment to adapt. There wasn't much space inside the troop compartment. It was full of boxes and odd devices, masses of cables and half-packaged satellite dishes. Over in one corner sat a neat pile of several big superconducting batteries. There were three of the big cubes. Next to them-

Alaster stared. Stowed on a rack were several jump packs!

Kodos saw where he was looking. 'Yeah, thought you might spot them,' he said.

Behind them Alaster could hear the sounds of the camp, leaking in through the open hatch. The inside of the Land Raider smelled faintly of machine oil and cardboard from all the boxes.

'I thought the Wolves didn't use jump packs,' Alaster said.

'They don't usually,' Kodos agreed. 'There was a plan to give them to one of the Blood Claw squads. Apparently they don't know any better. But since we're here and we do … well, lucky us. Makes sense. We have more training – and some of us more experience.'

Alaster couldn't get his eyes off the jump packs. They were painted the wrong colour, he noted. He wondered if that would cause a problem with the Machine Spirits. Something to worry about later, he supposed. 'So we'll be using them?' he asked.

Kodos nodded. 'Yes. Because as of five AM tomorrow morning, things get interesting.'

'We're moving out?'

Kodos nodded. He dug into one of his belt pouches, pulling out a slate. He put it flat on top of one of the crates. 'Look at this,' he said. He tapped a key. The slate's face lit up. A holographic map flickered into life above it. Alaster peered at it. 'This is based on our latest surveillance footage.'

It showed a shoreline. There was a circular bay with a large island in the middle of it. No, that wasn't an island. It was glossy and flesh-coloured. Alaster noted four pylons grouped around its circumference. The structure was grossly organic. The cove surrounded it like a moat. On the shore beyond were clusters of secondary growths, towers and pools and less identifiable things. They were all embedded in a mass of filamentary strands that wound across the ground. In places it looked like a spreading net of blood vessels, in others a mass of mould-strands.

'Yuck,' Alaster said.

'It is a bit gross, isn't it?' Kodos agreed. 'This is the hive centre. This is what we're going to destroy.'

'So the Nids have themselves a hole,' Alaster said. 'I take it that cove isn't natural?'

'No it isn't. It's an impact feature. This thing was deposited by that Nid ship, the one that got shot down.'

Kodos was looking at Alaster expectantly. Alaster realised there was something else he should have spotted. He looked carefully at the map.

He noticed the shoreline and the cove were cut off from the inland, by a steep mountain range. 'Mountains,' he said. 'They're not easy to get at.'

'It's given them natural ramparts,' Kodos agreed. Was there just a hint of satisfaction in his face? 'Makes the area hard to attack.'

'Air support?' Alaster asked, trying to think strategically.

Kodos shook his head. 'Been tried. They've got defences up now. The only way to get in is to come in low – below their radar, as it were.'

'So we're going in on foot?'

Kodos nodded. 'Well, we're going in on jump packs – but yes, basically. You see all these crates? These are the targetters we need to get into place. That's the objective. We need the bombardment targeted carefully. We don't know which bit of this structure is the key one. So we have to get all of it.'

Alaster nodded. 'So we'll be unloading the tank?'

Kodos shook his head. 'No.'

Alaster blinked. 'Then how…?' He looked at the map. The mountains didn't look tank-friendly.

'The targetters need protecting. The Wolves won't teleport. With Nid air defences in the area, drop-podding isn't a good option. The best is to keep them inside the Land Raider.'

Alaster nodded. 'I see that, Sergeant – but how do we get the Land Raider through the mountains?'

Kodos pointed at something, a faint linear feature that vanished just on the edge of the mountains. 'The Nid spore came down on what used to be a large town. Seventeen thousand people. It had a train station. There's still a monorail line running through a tunnel. We managed to sneak a servo-skull in there a while back. The tunnel's still open. It's big enough to take the Land Raider and the army through the mountains.'

'That's a good place for an attack,' Alaster said.

Kodos nodded. 'Yes. But the entire army isn't going to be in the tunnel.'

'Isn't it?'

'No. We'll be going through ahead on the jump packs. The landspeeders will come with us. Our job will be to distract the Nids, break them up while the others come through. Once the Wolves are out of the tunnel, the landspeeders change duty. From then on they'll be supplying heavy firepower to support the Blood Claws.'

Alaster nodded with a feeling of enlightenment. He had wondered how the Blood Claws managed without heavy weapon support. 'So what do we do after that?'

'We switch to roving strike mode. We jump in whenever there are deep concentrations of Nids. We hit the big ones, we jump out. While we're at it, we get to spot for the Long Fangs.'

Alaster whistled. 'So we're not going to get bored, then.'

'This is a big honour,' Kodos said. 'Thorbjornsson's letting us lead the assault. Frankly, I'm surprised. I'd thought if anything, we might get used in a support role. But no – we're going to be in the thick of it.'

Alaster looked at the map. It was definitely an honour and a big responsibility. Something else occurred to him. It was also the most dangerous single duty of any in the assault. 'How's Fegust?' he asked.

'Recovering,' Kodos said. 'They've patched him up. He should be ready to fight by tomorrow. That's good, given that we're striking before dawn.'

Alaster nodded. 'What about extraction?'

'We'll have a Thunderhawk pick-up,' Kodos replied.

'I thought you said there were air defences?'

Kodos pointed at a shape on the map. 'There are. That's what we think these are. When we set up the targetter beacons, we're going to take them out as well.'

'Oh.' Alaster nodded. 'What happens if we don't?'

'We die,' Kodos replied succinctly. 'The barrage is due to start no more than ten minutes after we get the targetters in place.'

Alaster blinked. 'That's cutting it a bit fine, isn't it?'

'No – in fact it's probably too loose. Do you think the Nids are just going to leave them alone, once we put them up? Skak no. There's no point us doing all this, only for the Nids to smash the beacons.'

'So we have to take the air defences down, then.'

'Yes.'

Alaster whistled. 'Well, it's nice to know we won't get bored.'


	26. Chapter 26 Striking Home

'Team Karo. Report.'

'In position. Status good. No contacts.' Alaster glanced around him. He was crouched behind some dense, scrubby bushes. Behind him, the mountain reared up. In front of him, the rock face fell away toward the ground. Two hundred feet below, he could see the corroded reddish streak that was the monorail line. It ran out of the mountain, straight as an arrow. Around it was the rotten wreck of a forest, fallen trees, broken stumps and dead saplings scattered around like corpses in a morgue. The place was infested with Tyranid organisms, the trunks draped with lichen-like growths and some of the stumps all but lost in swollen, bulging masses of fungus-like alien foulness. The scene was revolting. The monorail line was a surreal reminder that, appearances to the contrary, this was still a human world.

Alaster and his brothers intended to see that it remained so.

In the distance, Alaster could see the fleshy dome of the Tyranid hive centre. It was huge, more than a mile wide. It sat in the middle of the cove like a gigantic beached whale. It was surrounded by the organic pylons Alaster had seen on the map – they were docking towers, he saw now. A Tyranic dirigible, a living, floating gas bag, was sucking onto the end of one of them. He understood that the gross thing was a sort of living spore dispenser. It would disgorge its foul cargo as it floated over the land above, coating the hills and field below it with alien contamination.

Beyond the hive centre lay the sea. The sky was relatively clear this morning. In amongst the clouds, Alaster could see the bulk of Majoris, half-sunk behind the horizon. Alaster glanced at his chronometer. Fifteen minutes until dawn. The sun would rise behind them. Alaster still had moments when this sort of thing confused him. Octalis didn't rise in the west on Delta. Apparently the local star did, such was the spin of this planet.

Still, it would have its advantages. Advancing with the glare of the sun behind them would hopefully have the Nid defenders dazzled and less able to aim well.

He looked back at the monorail line. It carried on into the hillside, through the tunnel. Somewhere inside there, the Land Raider was making its way forward, accompanied by the Space Wolves. They were scheduled to emerge ten minutes before sunrise. The tunnel was a mess, untidy heaps of debris slowing passage. It was exactly in the state it had been left in by the surviving townsfolk's panicky flight, months before.

'I see movement,' Alaster heard Sandrer say. 'Eleven o'clock, range – I think – two double oh from the tunnel.'

Alaster looked. Two hundred metres out from the tunnel – yes, there was something! A shape, just behind some trees. It was hard to be sure, the trees were festooned with strands of alien growth. The strands extended between them, creating a dense net of cover. Nonetheless, through the gaps, he could see something.

'Where there's one there'll be others,' Eorvan put in. His voice was cynical with experience.

'Time to move out,' Kodos said. 'Karo, get your team to Point B. Haakon, Svein, if you could be on alert please?'

'Received,' Alaster heard Svein say. His voice crackled over the comm.-net – there'd been some trouble integrating the communications protocols. The antenna-spirits had proved tetchy. Alaster was just grateful that his suit seemed to get on with the jump pack over his shoulders.

'You heard him,' Alaster said to his marines. 'Jump to Point B, on my mark – mark!'

A moment's concentration. Alaster pictured what he wanted. With a roar, the thrusters in his jump pack kicked in. As he soared into the air, Alaster reflected how easy that bit was. All he had to do was think what he wanted – and his black carapace did the rest, faithfully transmitting instructions from brain to machine. The jump pack felt just like an extension of his body. In a sense, Alaster supposed, it was.

The rockside fell away behind him. He neared the peak of his arc, trees shrinking below. He caught a flash of planetshine on the sea in the distance. He was breathing faster than he liked. He tried to focus, slowing his breathing. He could smell the dry, artificial scent of the air coming through his helmet filters.

Two more exhaust-streaks leapt into the air behind him – Nasty and Patreus.

Point B was a big rock, sat amongst the trees. It was the closest of the four designated attack-points to whatever was in the undergrowth. As he reached the top of his arc, Alaster killed the jets. He dropped like a stone.

The rock swelled beneath his feet. Alaster concentrated on holding them apart, at just the right angle. Orientation was the key here. If you positioned yourself wrong, you'd get spun around by the eddies around you. Going into a spin was a quick way to get killed. More Assault Marines, Alaster's instructors had told him, had been killed that way then by the enemy.

Inside his helmet, Alaster smiled. This Assault Marine had no intention of going that way!

The rock was very big now. Alaster could see his shadow, expanding on its grey, lichen-encrusted surface. At the last moment, he kicked the jets in. The sudden down-thrust jerked him, hard. He heard the roar. He felt his harness scrape against his breastplate.

He slowed sharply. Gently as a feather, his boot-soles touhed the stone.

Two more roars. Nasty and Patreus came down on either side of him.

'Point B attained,' Alaster reported.

'Good,' Kodos's voice said. 'Do you see the bug?'

Alaster looked around. The monorail was off to their right, lost amongst the tree trunks and skeletal bushes. Everything was festooned with alien growths. The sky was bright with the imminent sunrise but there were still deep shadows amongst the morbid trees. He began, 'I can't quite-'

Something lashed out.

Alaster leapt back. Long, barbed tendrils smacked into the rock by his feet.

'Lictor! Dead ahead!' Nasty shouted.

Alaster's chainsword howled. He swept the blade down into the flesh hooks. The tendrils were under tension. They spasmed like a rubber band as Alaster's blade tore them. Alien ichor spat from them.

Something bellowed from the bushes.

'Okay,' Alaster said, 'Point C next. On my mark – jump!'

The Lictor sprang from the bushes. It was the first time Alaster had seen one by daylight. It didn't look any better. It was a roughly bipedal, angular mass of insect-like armour plates and a paler underbelly. It had six pairs of limbs, two manipulative arms and two wicked-looking talon-arms, which it held threateningly above its wedge-shaped head. A stubby tail assisted with balance. On one side of its torso hung a sad mass of severed tendrils – the flesh hooks his blade had shredded. A second mass, undamaged, sprouted from the other side of the beast's abdomen.

Alaster snapped off a quick shot at it, the pistol kicking in his hand. The bolt smacked into a chitinous plate, blasting off fragments. The alien leapt forward.

'Jump!' Alaster shouted.

The marines' jump packs roared. They sprang skywards. Bellowing like a madman, the Lictor gave chase.

There was a small hill nearby. This was Point C. The three Ravens landed on top of it. The hilltop was bare of vegetation, an expanse of half-dried mud and a layer of dust. It was a bleak place.

The Lictor charged toward them. It was small in the distance but moving fast.

'Is it following?' Kodos's crackly voice asked.

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster reported. Through a gap in the trees, he could see the black tunnel-mouth and the cliff behind. The Lictor was moving away from it.

With any luck, the pheromone trail it would be laying would also lead away from the tunnel.

'Good,' Kodos said. 'Play it out one stop further.'

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster said.

They waited atop the hill, taking pistol-potshots as the alien charged toward them. It reached the base of the hill and poised to spring.

'Point D,' Alaster ordered.

The jump packs roared. The exposed dirt atop the hill was blown up in a sudden gale of dust. The Lictor roared in frustration, waving its talons at them.

Point D was a dense copse of trees. The branches were knotted together at the top by alien growths. They were tightly-bound enough to stand on. As Alaster settled down, they creaked under his weight – but they held. The hill with the Lictor on it was in front of them, in the middle-distance. Beyond that was the tunnel entrance, still visible but small in the distance. A dead woodland surrounded them behind and to the sides.

The Lictor raced forward.

'Okay, it's coming,' Alaster reported.

'Roger,' Kodos said. 'Landspeeders, stand by. Team Eorvan, intercept time! Engage packs!'

On a slope atop the distant rockface, four little flames suddenly flicked into life. Alaster had to squint to see them.

The Lictor was nearing Point D.

'What do we do?' Patreus asked.

'Stand our ground,' Alaster reminded him.

The Lictor sprang. Alaster looked down at the alien monster. Beady little eyes glared hatefully and pupilessly back at him. It sprang again, thrusting its talons into the dense foliage. It was trying to climb, Alaster saw.

It dug the talons in. It began hauling itself up. It was heavy. Alaster felt the entangled trees sway beneath his feet. The monster was still rising.

He heard a bolt pistol boom. One of the monster's eyes exploded. It howled.

'Nice shot, Nasty.'

'Thanks,' Nasty said smugly. 'I'll get the other one too – just watch me!' He shot again.

The monster was almost level with them.

'Okay,' Alaster said. 'Nasty – you keep shooting. Patreus – you and me are going to trim those talons off!'

'I like that,' Patreus said. There was a grin in his voice.

The creature was not far below them now. A quick glance up showed that the other team were closing fast. Still, there wasn't time to wait for them.

The monster pulled free a talon. It swung the hideous, scythe-like thing again, toward the tangled mass of branches below Alaster's feet.

Alaster stepped back. As he did he swept his chainsword up. The blade met the edge of the alien's talon. It slammed down onto the spinning blade. The teeth growled. The impact reverberated up Alaster's arm. Nonetheless he held on, gritting his teeth. He jerked the blade up, levering it to one side. It bit into the chitin.

With a painful crack, the alien's exoskeletal plating cracked. Ichor gushed out. Alaster wrenched the chainsword out. The talon snapped in two. The arm spasmed back, spraying out a jet of ichor.

There was another chainsword growl from Alaster's other side. Patreus was hacking at the other talon. It was sunk into the tangled foliage. Alaster leant a hand. Between them they hacked it apart.

The Lictor lost its grip. It toppled back off the trees, slamming into the dirt below. It spasmed amongst the rotten leaf litter.

There was a grumble of jump packs. Kodos, Eorvan, Sandrer and Fegust landed around it. Neatly and without fuss, they set to work. They each took a limb, hacking it off with their chainswords. The creature was quickly rendered paraplegic. Then, with a snap of chainswords, they finished it off.

'One xeno down,' Kodos said with satisfaction. 'To the treetops, Brothers!'

The four marines engaged their thrusters, leaping up to join the others atop the trees.

'This is a good spot,' Kodos said, looking around. 'We're up above most of their heads – but if we stay here, they'll see us.'

Alaster nodded. It felt wrong. What they were doing went against a lot of his training. However, he understood the plan. The assault squad was acting as a decoy, leading the Tyranids away from the tunnel. With any luck they'd get most of the xeno forces in the area after them. Then the Space Wolves would emerge – and fall on the xenos from behind. Do this right and they could destroy much of the opposition in this area. It would make the rest of their journey to the hive centre that bit easier.

Of course, to act as a decoy, they had to be seen. Standing out here in the open, out of cover – it really did feel wrong. The main advantage the Ravens had was their mobility – as soon as anything attacked, they could leap out of the way then strike back at leisure. Of course, there was only one squad of them. If they were attacked by too many Nids, they could get swamped – but that was what the landspeeders were for. The plan was to hold them in reserve, hidden behind cover on the slopes, for as long as possible. When the landspeeders dropped in, the Nids would have to realise this was a major assault, not just a little reconnaissance-by-fire. But it was reassuring knowing that Eirik and Haakon and Svein and – what was the other one's name? Oh yes, that was it – Thorolf were waiting in the wings.

There was movement in the bushes.

'Movement – three o'clock, range approx oh six oh,' Alaster said, pointing.

There were shapes amongst the trees. Alaster zoomed his eyelenses in. He got an impression of clawed arms and bulbous heads. It was hard to be sure in the gloom but he reckoned he knew what he saw.

'Genestealers,' Sandrer confirmed. 'Loads of the skakkers!'

'That didn't take long,' Nasty said.

'Well it wouldn't, would it?' Kodos replied, heavy with sarcasm. 'The whole area's crawling with Nids.'

'You know what this place needs?' Nasty said. 'Bug spray. Reckon a good squirt of Insectokill'd sort those skakking flies down there out.'

'Or a good chainswording,' Patreus said, sounding enthusiastic.

The Genestealers ran out from the undergrowth. There was a clearing between Point D's trees and the Genestealers. They were running forward.

'Okay, move back out of sight, everyone,' Kodos said.

The Ravens did as they were told.

'Now, when I say, light your packs. We're going to circle round and hit the 'Stealers from behind – where those nasty claws can't reach. Team Karo, you go round clockwise. Team Eorvan, you go round the other way. I'm going to stay here and keep their attention. On my mark…' Kodos walked forward, right to the edge of the branches. He looked down. Alaster heard a chittering from below. 'MARK!'

Jump packs roared. Alaster was jerked off the ground. He waved his brothers on. They swooped off of the matted platform, swinging behind the trees. The mass was briefly outlined blackly against the sky. Alaster's hearts were in his mouth with anticipation.

The marines flew round the mass of trees. Suspecting he'd be at too close quarters to use it effectively, Alaster holstered his bolt pistol.

As they swung round they were greeted by a horrible sight. A mass of Genestealers were flowing up the trunks, climbing on their claws. As Alaster watched he saw one hammer a claw into the trunk, hauling itself up.

Kodos was stood above them, right at the edge, snapping off shots on his pistol. One of them hit a Genestealer's head. Ichor spurted out.

'Attack, Brothers!' Kodos shouted.

The marines threw themselves at the Genestealers. Alaster split the nearest one's skull with his first stroke. Alien brains sprayed out. It fell from the tree trunk. He grabbed a branch and swung himself around. Another Genestealer swung a free arm at him. Alaster kicked it aside, kicking hard. He heard chitin crunch.

The force of his kick knocked him backwards, into clear air. For a moment he spun. A few quick blasts on the thrusters got him back under control. Alaster looked back at the trees. Nasty killed a Genestealer as he watched. Patreus hacked viciously at another one. Attacking them halfway up was a good strategy – the marines had free movement but the Genestealers' fighting range was limited. If they pulled too many arms off of the trunks, they'd fall.

Alaster hacked his sword into the Genestealer's back. The carapace broke. Innards spilled out. The corpse hung lifelessly from its claws.

Four more Ravens roared into view. Kodos had joined the fight, along with Team Eorvan. Alaster looked back. Picking a Genestealer, he fired his thrusters. He slammed forward. He reached out and grabbed one of its arms with his free hand. With a furious wrench, he pulled it from the tree.

The jerk knocked him and the alien back into clean air. It waved its claws spasmodically, clearly confused. Alaster noted they were sinking. The readouts on his displays told him the extra weight was more than his jump pack liked. Quickly, he rammed his sword into the alien's mouth. With a growl of a chainblade, he tore its head apart. Ichor and brains spilled out. Chipped fragments of skull sprayed out, some of them rattling off Alaster's armour.

He threw the carcass away. It spun limply into the distance, falling into some bushes with a loud crash.

Alaster returned to the fight.

A couple of minutes later, it was over. The Ravens had destroyed more than two dozen Genestealers. Point D's tree trunks were sprayed with their ichor, Bits and pieces of torn Nid were wedged in between branches. Broken alien corpses were strewn across the ground below.

As they hovered in mid-air, Kodos did a quick roll call. 'Good,' he said. 'Everyone's still here. Any injuries?'

The marines all reported in. No-one was hurt.

'Let's try and keep it that way,' Kodos said. 'Now, we need to move-'

Alaster caught a glimpse of glowing green. Instinct took over. His jump pack slammed him forward. He collided, arms out, with Kodos's chest. He slammed the sergeant forward.

'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-'

A hiss-crackle. A bright green light. Afterimages. A bolt of plasma smacked into the tree trunk behind. It had just gone through the space Kodos had been in a moment before.

'Oh,' the sergeant said. 'Thank you.'

'Didn't have time to warn you – sorry!' Alaster was contrite.

'Yes, thank you,' Kodos said. 'You can let go now.'

Alaster looked down. He realised he still had his arms wrapped around Kodos's torso. 'Oh. Of course.' He quickly disengaged.

'We've got trouble,' Eorvan said. 'Hive Tyrant!'

Alaster looked. He felt his skin crawl. A wicked thing had emerged from the bushes. It was huge, more than twice the height of an ordinary human. Like the Lictor, it had a tail for balance. It had a larger, angular head with a flaring crest reaching out behind it. Its mouth was filled with fangs. It had two massive talon-arms reaching out in front of it.

There were two more arms below them. It was carrying a biogun, a sort of flared exoskeletal tube. That must have been the source of the plasma blast, Alaster supposed. He knew it generated an electric field inside it – that was the source of the plasma. The bolts were semi-stable in flight. But when they hit something, the internal repulsion of the electrically-charged gas would make it explode – like the tree trunk behind them.

Alaster looked. A fire had started. Much of the tree was just gone. A big smoking hole had opened into the interior. It was ringed with reddish flames. Where the Nid growths impacted on it, the flames were funny colours.

He looked back at the Hive Tyrant. It was a singularly creepy thing. He didn't want to be anywhere near it. He thought of the trouble his brothers had had with the Tyranids so far – they weren't an easy enemy, even for his fellow Space Marines. Alaster wondered how the Imperial Guard coped at all. He suspected they often didn't.

'Hey,' said Nasty, 'is anyone else feeling weird? Or is it just me?'

'Don't give in to it,' Eorvan said. 'These things have some sort of witchcraft.'

'It's a psychic thing,' Kodos put in. 'I've come across this before. It undermines morale. But now that you know what it's doing, you can ignore it.'

He was right. Psychic wards were part of their training. They weren't anything complicated, just concentration techniques and things like that. Little things that made it harder to influence your mind. As Kodos spoke, Alaster's snapped into place. He let an old song run round in his head, filling his brain with the telepathic version of white noise. It'd be so much harder to break in now – the creature would have to find a way past that. He made himself focus on the situation at hand, the chainsword in his hands and the thing in front of them. He forced himself to focus and stop speculating. The less his mind wandered, the less it could be pushed around.

Immediately, he felt his mood rise.

'Look!' Sandrer pointed. 'The tube!'

There was a green glow inside it.

'Scatter!' Kodos ordered.

Jump packs roared. The marines shot away from each other. The Hive Tyrant fired its bio-plasma bolt. It hiss-crackled through the air. It passed about a metre from Nasty's shoulder. It slammed into the canopy of Point D.

The marines tried to engage the monster. Getting close to it proved difficult. As Patreus swooped in it slammed a scythe-like talon in his direction. He only just got out of the way in time. On the other side, Nasty had to duck a swipe from a clawed hand and then a talon-stroke.

'Space out!' Kodos ordered. 'Hit it from all sides!'

The marines encircled the monster. A talon swung at Alaster. It loomed. He killed his thrusters. He dropped to the ground. It passed through the space above his head. He felt a whoosh of displaced air.

He stood on the ground, looking up at the Hive Tyrant. It looked back. Its jaws parted. A thin tongue flicked out. It swept a clawed arm toward him.

Alaster rolled to one side. The claw swept over his head.

'I think we need the landspeeders,' Kodos said.

Svein's voice crackled in their ears. 'Landspeeders inbound,' he reported.

The creature took a heavy step to the side. It looked at Alaster. It swept up its biogun. Suddenly he was looking down the barrel. There was a glow. Alaster swallowed-

The gun jerked. A chainblade smacked into the barrel, scraping fragments off. 'Down here, you bastard!' Nasty shouted.

The Hive Tyrant twitched. It looked down. It slammed the barrel backwards. It collided with Nasty's head. There was a loud _bonk_ as chitin met ceramite. Nasty staggered backwards. He slipped and fell over. The creature turned toward him-

Alaster leapt up and threw himself at the creature's leg. He grabbed it and pulled. The enormous Tyranid staggered.

He heard a rising whine – no, two rising whines. He caught a glimpse of movement between here and the mountains.

Haakon's voice crackled in their ears. 'Okay, you might want to move back. We're ready to hit this bug!'

The Hive Tyrant turned its head, looking over its shoulder. It noticed the approaching landspeeders. It snarled.

'Get back, everyone!' Kodos shouted.

Alaster ran over to Nasty. He was still on the ground. Alaster grabbed one of the fan-housings on Nasty's jump-pack. With a grunt he hauled his brother to his feet. Nasty slumped against Alaster's shoulder.

'Nasty! Wake up!'

Nasty made a noise. It wasn't quite speech. Alaster pushed him forward. They ran toward a clump of bushes. Nasty stumbled along semi-consciously beside him.

Alaster heard footfalls. _Big_ footfalls.

'Jump, damn you!' Kodos shouted. 'It's chasing you!'

'We can't!' Alaster yelled back. 'Nasty's still out!'

'Allow us,' a crackly voice said.

An oblong shadow swept over Nasty and Patreus. Alaster heard the roar of a heavy bolter – and the triumphant growl of an angry Space Wolf. He turned, hanging onto Nasty's stunned form. He watched as a landspeeder swooped in toward the Hive Tyrant. It swung into a strafing run. It opened fire. Alaster watched the bolt-rounds, their trajectory picked out in squirts of ichor from the alien's carapace. As the landspeeder turned Alaster caught a glimpse of the gunner. He had a tooth necklace hung over his breastplate.

'Go Brother Haakon!' Alaster shouted.

'Don't forget me!' he heard Eirik say. 'I'm the one flying the damn thing!'

A line of bolts sparked off the alien's head-crest. The Hive Tyrant staggered backwards. The landspeeder moved forward.

The Hive Tyrant roared. With a sudden, violent movement, it scythed a talon downwards. The talon crunched into the landspeeder's fuselage.

The landspeeder jerked. Alaster heard the whine of its engine rise, to a grating, uneven high.

'Pull out!' Kodos shouted.

'Damn it, we're trying!' Haakon snarled back. 'It's got a hold! By Russ, this thing's strong!'

'Hey, where am I?'

Alaster's head jerked round. Nasty had come to! 'What's going on?' Nasty asked.

'Bug trouble,' Alaster said, pointing.

As he did they heard a groan of tortured metal. A panel broke off and fell from the landspeeder. Spasmodically, it moved backward.

'Hey, we'd better help them!' Nasty said. His jump pack lit. He sprang from the ground, toward the landspeeder.

Briefly Alaster wondered what had got into Nasty. Then he lit his own thrusters. He was slammed into the air, straight toward the alien.

They landed on the front of the vehicle. Nasty hacked at the talon with his sword. Alaster joined in. He slammed his blade into the side of the talon. If they could cut through it, break it off, the landspeeder would be free. It would be impaled with part of a scything talon, yes, but still free.

'Distract it!' Kodos shouted. 'Hit it's legs, everyone!'

Below them, a mass of Space Marines pounced on the Hive Tyrant's feet. The air was filled with the growl of chainblades. Alaster drove his against the talon. Sparks flew. He wasn't making much progress against the bio-armour. Nor, he saw, was Nasty.

The alien stepped back. The landspeeder was yanked after it. Nasty and Alaster lost their footing. For a second Alaster was in a spin before he regained it.

In frustration Nasty smacked his sword against the edge of the talon. Alaster watched in horror as the razor-sharp talon bit into the chainblade. There was an awful, pained howl as the chainblade was torn. Motors still spinning, ceramite teeth were sprayed everywhere. The chainlink erupted from the housing like a poisoned snake. Nasty's sword died with a pained moan.

He stared at it. 'Skak!' he said.

'Nasty!' Alaster pointed.

A clawed hand was sweeping upwards. The monster was about to bat the disarmed Space Marine aside. Alaster stared at the vicious spikes on the end of its fingers. They'd find a gap in Nasty's armour, he knew it.

Suddenly a new voice crackled in their ears. 'Brother Nasty! Catch!'

Alaster's head turned. He looked just in time to see Haakon reach down into the seat well. His hand came back gripping an axe! The blade had a bluish shine. He threw it. A growling wolf's head was carved into its side. Alaster blinked – there appeared to have a wolf's tail tied to the haft!

It spun through the air. The blade flashed with planetshine.

Nasty caught it. He spun, lifting off the landspeeder on his thrusters. The axe blade curved through the air. It sliced straight into the alien hand. Ichor sprayed out. Nasty pushed it further down.

The clawed horror was separated from the arm. It fell away, spinning to the ground below. The alien howled.

Nasty turned back to the stricken landspeeder. He struck the talon with the axe. There was a loud crunch. Alaster stared as the talon gave way! With a jerk, the landspeeder pulled back.

'Got you, you bastard!' Nasty yelled triumphantly.

Bellowing, the Hive Tyrant stepped backwards. It glared at them with hate-filled, bestial eyes. Then it brought up its biogun. Once more there was a glow of plasma in the barrel. Skak. Alaster turned to jump aside. He could already hear the crackle of plasma. It was too late-

Then everything happened at once.

The Hive Tyrant's body spasmed. Two plumes of smoke erupted from its chest. It stumbled. It fell – and then its head exploded! Alaster stared in disbelief.

'Looks like the cavalry have arrived,' Haakon said smugly.

Alasterter looked up. There was motion at the tunnel mouth. He saw grey-armoured men striding forth. And behind them he saw the mighty shape of the _Ulfhednar._ Its lascannons were still pointed at the Hive Tyrant it had just blasted.

'You know what?' Patreus said suddenly. 'I like that tank even more now.'


	27. Chapter 27 The Hive's Heart

'Keep it,' Haakon said.

Nasty turned the axe over in his hands. He looked down at it, then back up at Haakon. The blade was catching the newly-risen sun. Alaster could see its bluish edge, reflected in Nasty's eyelenses.

'You're sure?' Nasty asked eagerly.

Haakon laughed. 'You need a weapon, Brother.'

'Thank you!' Alaster couldn't see Nasty's face, but he knew he was beaming. Nasty hefted the axe. 'I'll split some heads with this!' He sounded happy.

They were stood next to the landspeeder. As soon as the Wolves' main force was on hand, the landspeeder had landed. It was undergoing some emergency repairs. The landing had been only partly voluntary; the engines were failing.

The hatch at the back was open. There was a bang. A roll of wire fell out. A clatter followed it. A grey-armoured Space Marine emerged. He had a diamond-emblem in the centre of his breastplate. Alaster recognised Brother Eirik. 'Here it is!' Eirik announced, brandishing a component.

'Well let's get it in, then,' Haakon said. They turned to the raised bonnet of the landspeeder. It had a big gash in it, where the talon had torn through. Beneath it was a mass of machinery, capacitors and cables and tubes. In the middle of it sat a broken device. Eirik was holding the spare.

Haakon reached down and pulled out the broken thing. It looked like a set of copper rings, coiled tightly around a central spindle. On one side it was bent out of shape. 'That looks pretty dead,' Haakon said irreverently. He tossed it over his shoulder. It spun through the air before vanishing into a skeletal bush.

Eirik handed him the other one. Haakon slotted it in and plugged a couple of connectors in. Suddenly, the landspeeder whined. It bobbed up a foot off the ground. Haakon sprinted over to the cockpit. He reached out and tapped some keys. Sounding satisfied, he announced, 'The machine lives!'

Eirik let out a triumphant yell.

'Let me put this down for you,' Alaster said, pulling the bonnet down. He latched it back into place. The lock engaged with a click.

Eirik and Haakon had sat themselves back in the landspeeder. They strapped themselves in. 'We better move – see you later!' Haakon said. There was a whir of engines. The battered landspeeder rose into the sky.

As its shadow moved away, Alaster looked around. He heard another engine rumble. A boxy, grey shape shifted, dirt spraying from under its tracks. The _Ulfhednar_ was on the move again. Alongside it were Thorbjornsson's Wolf Guard. One of the Terminators had a massive assault cannon slung under one of his arms. Another had a heavy flamer. Streaks of carbonisation radiated back along its barrel. Alaster watched them with awe.

A shadow appeared next to him. There was a growl of thrusters. With a rustle of disturbed leaves, Kodos landed. He bent his knees as he touched down. The thrusters fell quiet.

Surprised, Alaster started.

Kodos snapped a couple of sarcastic fingers in front of his face. 'Wake up,' the sergeant said. 'We're moving out. We're on point – get your troops in the air.'

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster said. He looked at Patreus and Nasty. 'You heard him.'

'I'm ready whenever!' Patreus was as enthusiastic as ever.

'Here we go again,' Nasty groused. Nonetheless the thrusters on his backpack growled into life.

A few moments later, the assault squad was up in the air, just above the treetops. They were moving ahead of the main force, with orders to disrupt any enemy forces, either by engaging them directly, spotting for the Long Fangs or calling in the landspeeders. The last option, they'd been told, was to be kept in reserve until absolutely necessary – the Blood Claws needed the landspeeders' support.

Behind them, the Land Raider was making its way alongside the monorail. Here, the track was raised up. High-ground advantage would be important in combating the Nids. They emphasised close-quarters fighting. Ripping them to pink mist with ranged fire wouldn't help. Individual Nids were mindless – the Hive Mind had no issue about using its tools in vast bug-wave attacks. There were no individual soldiers who might panic or mutiny or shoot their officers – just a tide of mindless eating-machines. Given the Hive Mind's situation, focusing on close combat made sense.

Alaster understood that the Nids' one objective, essentially, was to consume everything in their path. But to make that work effectively, they needed to maintain the momentum of their swarm. That was what the Storm Ravens planned to break. Targeted close-combat strikes in combination with the awesome firepower of the Long Fangs – it should be enough to shatter most clumps of Nids. Those they couldn't break on their own would be charged by the Blood Claws, backed up by the heavy bolters of the landspeeders.

Failing all else, there were the lascannons on the _Ulfhednar_.

The dome of the hive centre loomed in the distance. The monorail ran on toward it, straight as an arrow. The hive centre was an ugly black shape, a fat lump sat between here and the horizon. Alaster's fingers twitched on the hilt of his chainsword. It was a menacing reminder of the alien presence here.

'There!' he heard Sandrer say. 'Movement!'

An arrow appeared on Alaster's displays, in the direction Sandrer was pointing. He looked. Further ahead was a clump of dead trees alongside the monorail track. In amongst the shadows he saw motion. He zoomed his eyelenses. He saw long-armed shapes with bulbous heads, in amongst the dense tree trunks. He caught his breath - Genestealers.

He zoomed out. The thick copse sat there in its entirety, dirty grey-beige trunks reaching up like skeletal digits. The ubiquitous Nid-growths were everywhere.

'Relaying positions,' Eorvan said calmly. 'Long Fangs to engage.'

'Acknowledged,' a voice crackled in their ears. To someone else, the Space Wolf said, 'Vector acquired. Fire at will. Brothers!'

Two streaks of vapour tore through the air. Alaster watched as the rockets headed for their target. One hit the ground a little short. It exploded in a huge spray of earth. The boom was audible even from up above. Alaster caught glimpse of running bodies amongst the trees. The next missile hit a tree. It exploded in a shower of bark fragments. A smoking stump was left behind. A couple of nearby trunks, rotten to the core, toppled over.

'They're still there,' Sandrer said.

'It's the trees,' the Long Fang leader reported. 'We can't get a good lock.'

'They need clearing,' Kodos growled. 'The Land Raider's going right past that spot. Team Karo, when I give the word, drop to the ground, range oh one oh from the trees, bearing dead head. You're the bait.'

'Acknowledged,' Alaster replied, surprised by how calm he sounded.

He swivelled his thrusters, jerking himself toward the trees. Nasty and Patreus followed. Alaster saw his own shadow, rushing over the ground below. He was fast approaching the ordered position.

He dropped to the ground. Nasty and Patreus fell in on either side and slightly behind. They were careful to keep the required spacing, just in case any of the Nids happened to have a heavier weapon of any sort.

Alaster stood there in a fighting crouch, watching the vegetation ahead. The tree trunks were greyish, draped with glossy purple alien growths. Some of them reached out in long strands, webbing the trees together. That was how the rockets had failed to fell the whole lot, Alaster realised. By themselves the trunks were weak and rotten but together, they were strong.

Between them and the trees was ten metres of dead grass, stagnant puddles and the occasional pebble.

'Movement,' Patreus said.

Alaster peered into the dense shadows between the trees. There was indeed. 'Here they come,' he said. 'Hope you're ready with those big guns.'

'We're bringing up the plasma cannon,' the Long Fang pack leader reported, satisfaction in his crackly voice. 'We'll need a minute to get it locked and ready.'

A minute. Great. In close combat, that was a long time. Death didn't need more than a second. Alaster looked at his chainsword, quickly checking over the blade. No dirt, no obstructions, everything freshly oiled – good. While they'd been stood guard over the damaged landspeeder, he'd given his blade a quick clean. The foresight was paying dividends.

Alaster looked back into the woods. The movement was definite now. The Genestealers were much closer. Alaster concentrated on his breathing, keeping it steady. He felt the rhythmic in-out pulse of his lungs. He noted the faint rubber-and-metal smell of the rebreather. He could hear his pulse in his ears, both hearts beating in powerful synchrony.

The early morning sunlight cast his shadow in front of him, a sharp black outline. It was stark against the ground. He looked at the silhouettes of his sword and his pistol. He moved his chainsword, holding it defensively over his chest.

Alaster looked back into the trees. He tried shifting the filters in his eyelenses. What did it look like solely in the infrared? Unfortunately, not much better. The trees at the front were warming in the sunlight – their bark was sucking up heat. The glow of the warmth made it hard to see beyond. There were warm shapes in there, yes, but how many Alaster wasn't sure. He set the filters back to default – the whole spectrum flooded back in.

A monstrous shape leapt from the trees. Clawed arms waved in the sunlight. A fang-filled mouth gaped. Pupilless eyes glared. A tongue lapped out. The thing raced forward. Its shadow was cast against a tree trunk behind, black and alien.

Alaster's pistol leapt up. It kicked back against his hand. There was a roar. Sparks flew from a claw as the bolt clipped it. The thing stumbled. Alaster fired again. A grazing shot hit its leg. Ichor dribbled down. The thing threw itself at him.

As it sprang, Alaster stepped forward. He swept his blade outward. With a growl the teeth bit into the alien. Alaster dragged it to one side. More ichor spurted out. He slammed the alien into the ground, a gaping wound torn in its chest. A quick headshot from his pistol dispatched it.

He turned just in time to decapitate the next Genestealer.

The main swarm was on them now. The three marines were fighting amongst a mass of the monsters. Overhead, Eorvan and the others contributed carefully-aimed pistol shots. Alaster hacked and slashed. Nid limbs were torn, heads ripped off and torsos opened. Still more aliens boiled out of the trees.

Alaster raised his pistol to sight on an alien. He was slammed forwards. Something slammed into his backpack. As he stumbled, another hammer-blow impact hit home. Alaster fell to the ground. Training taking over, he kicked himself to the side. The Genestealer threw itself at him.

Alaster was looking straight up at it. He shot it in the face. Ichor sprayed onto his helmet. Briefly blinded, he flailed out with his blade. It connected with something. An impact reverberated down his arm. He batted the alien corpse aside.

Alaster rolled to his feet. The world was a blurry green-tinted mess. Quickly he wiped his eyelenses. He was losing precious seconds. Anything could be creeping up on him-

Alien hands grabbed his backpack. Alaster felt himself lifted. His feet pawed at ground that wasn't there anymore. He was about to get thrown. This was bad. A wrong fall could break his neck.

On sudden impulse, Alaster fired his jump pack.

The thrusters flared straight into the Genestealer's face. The Space Marine was ripped from its grasp. It howled in agony. The air was filled with the smell of burnt xeno.

As soon as he was clear, Alaster killed his thrusters. They'd only fired for a moment. The direction had been straight up. He dropped a couple of metres. Something crunched under his boots. Wiping his lenses, he looked down. He'd landed on his attacker. One of his boots had gone through its thorax. Nid-gore was splashed up his greaves.

'Yuck,' Alaster said, pulling his feet free. He stepped back, looking around for a new target.

Something smacked into Alaster's thigh. It didn't penetrate the ceramite but he stumbled under the blow, almost forced to one knee. Alaster stepped back. The alien hand was jerked off his leg. He brought his leg up and kicked it, hard as he could. As he did he twisted around, sweeping the Nid off its feet. He sent it barrelling into two more of its kin. They fell down.

Nasty jumped in. With a massive overhand stroke, he brought his axe down on two alien skulls at once. Brains and ichor were thrown out. One alien fell. The other xeno staggered drunkenly back. Ichor drooled down its alien face. It blinked. Alaster snapped up his pistol. The muzzle flashed. Ichor squirted from the alien's thorax. It toppled over, dead.

'Watch your strokes, Shepherd,' Kodos's voice admonished. 'You left your chest open.'

Alaster looked with satisfaction at the bloodied xeno corpses. Two less! He hefted his sword. Its black silhouette bisected the remains.

A new shadow fell beside him.

Alaster spun. A Genestealer was just behind him. Clawed hands, raised to strike. He saw them. Darkness against the blue morning sky.

They descended.

With no time to either shoot or strike, he did the one thing left to him. He fell forward, ducking inside the thing's claws and body-slamming it.

The Nid collided with his breastplate. Alaster's helmet banged its head. They fell forward in a tumbling heap. Briefly stunned, the creature hit the floor. Alaster rolled to his feet. As the Nid raised its head, he shot it in the eye. A jet of fluid burst from its face and it was still.

His armoured form cast a shadow over the dead Nid's lower half. Suddenly, another shadow appeared over Alaster's shoulder. He spun. He brought his chainsword up in one smooth motion. The blade tore the Genestealer's arm off at what passed for its elbow.

He brought the blade around and down, driving it into the creature's shoulder joint. The chainsword tore the arm clean off. As the xeno stumbled, Alaster shot it in the head. A tracer bolt streaked out. Skak! He'd reached the bottom of the magazine. Out of ammo!

Alaster didn't have time to reload. More aliens were closing on him. As the Nid's head was blown open he turned to the next attacker. He smacked it over the head with his empty bolt pistol. He felt its skull break under the impact. Bending his knees, he jumped. He delivered a powerful kick to its chest. The monster was sent tumbling backward-

'We're ready,' he heard the Long Fang sergeant say. 'Plasma cannon targeted and charged.'

'JUMP, BROTHERS!' Alaster shouted. His jump pack roared into life. He shot up from the ground. Two more roars told him Nasty and Patreus had followed orders.

The ground below him was a scene of carnage. Dismembered Genestealer carcasses lay everywhere. The puddles were fouled with ichor. Alaster didn't see any human blood, something for which he privately gave the Emperor thanks. His shadow shrank beneath him. A load of Genestealers raced impotently toward it, raising their claws in mute rage at his retreat.

He heard a humming sound. He felt a sense of déjà vu. It reminded him of the school, back on Delta – there had been some power cables, suspended above one side of the playground. They sometimes made sounds like this.

He saw a glow, the clean blue-white of lightning. An instant later, a plasma bolt slammed into the Genestealers below. There was a deafening boom as a load of aliens were vapourised. Their bodies exploded as the volatiles inside them flash-boiled. Two more plasma bolts slammed into the swarm. That was all it took. The entire Genestealer horde was reduced to charred ash.

A large swathe of ground below them was carbonised. Bits of it smoked.

'Wow,' Nasty said. 'I guess that was worth the wait.'

'Don't complain,' the Long Fang said. 'You got to crack some xeno skulls – what more do you want?' Nonetheless, the old Wolf sounded amused.

'Brothers, report,' Kodos said. 'Injuries?'

Alaster was changing his magazine, chainsword tucked under one arm. As he did he quickly looked himself over. A glance at Nasty and Patreus assured him everything was fine. 'None to report,' he said.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'Anyone see any surviving aliens?'

'No,' Alaster said. The others confirmed that they couldn't see anything either.

A voice crackled. 'Let's make sure of it,' the Long Fang said.

Moments later a couple more plasma bolts strobed out. They hit either side of the mass of trees in front of them. Moments later, the entire copse was ablaze. The flames burned green.

'Yuck,' Patreus said. 'Does plasma always make things green?'

'Green?' The Long Fang sounded surprised. 'A green flame? That's not right.'

'Copper,' Eorvan mused. 'Wonder what the Nids want with that?'

'What do you mean?' Sandrer asked.

'He's right,' Kodos said. 'The flames. That colour means there's copper in there. It won't be in the trees, not in that amount, so it must be in the growths. I've seen them before. They take stuff from the soil. Nid mining, I think. These ones are taking up copper – lots of it.'

'What do they need metal for?' Nasty asked.

'It's a conductor,' the Long Fang said. 'We have copper coils in this plasma cannon I'm holding. That Hive Tyrant earlier had a plasma weapon. I wonder if they need it for that?'

'Bug plasma,' Kodos said. 'The less of that we see, the better.'

A tree trunk gave way. With a crackle and a shower of sparks, it toppled. The burning growths webbed around it tugged on its neighbours. Weakened by the fire, the entire copse collapsed. A cloud of ash puffed out. It was replaced by a smouldering pyre.

'Anything in there'll be toast now,' Eorvan said.

Kodos's helmet moved up and down; a nod. 'Time for us to move on.'

*

Geographically, they weren't that far from the hive centre, only a few clicks. Those clicks were proving hard-going. The Ravens and the Wolves found themselves under continual assault as they pushed doggedly forward. Progress was slow. It was now more then three hours after they had broken through the mountains and they'd only advanced two kilometres. The copse had merely been the start. The land around them was a moonscape of craters and torn-up trees and a charnel house of dismembered aliens but still the xenos kept coming. No sooner did they dispatch one swarm then another would take its place.

The shadow of a landspeeder swept over Alaster. A marine - Svein, he thought – waved to them as it sped toward a beleaguered Blood Claw pack. Alaster watched as the landspeeder dropped in over the heads of the young Wolves, its guns tearing into the mass of Gaunts that had tied them down. The landspeeder swivelled, swinging its arc of fire around. Aliens were hosed with bolts. The xenos were torn to pieces.

Howling their triumph, the Blood Claws charged toward the next mass of aliens.

The Ravens were moving forward to check out a report. Someone had spotted something in the distance. It might be a cloud of spore mines. If it was, their source needed taking out. The last thing anyone needed right now was gallons of bio-acid sloshing around.

Alaster's armour was splattered with alien gore. His suit had acquired a new set of dents and his shoulder pads had several fresh scratches. So far none of the Ravens had been badly-injured but Alaster suspected it was only a matter of time. They all had new bruises underneath their power armour. Alaster had taken a stroke to the head earlier – it had made his ears ring and for a few moments he'd been left seeing double. It hadn't stopped him bolting the Hormagaunt that had presumed to strike at him, though.

'Down there,' he heard Fegust say. 'By the railside. I see them!'

A vector blinked up on Alaster's displays. He looked. 'Skak,' he said. Up ahead and some twenty metres below, he saw a mass of spore mines, drifting alongside the monorail line. At this rate, they'd meet the _Ulfhednar_ and its defenders in about fifteen minutes.

'Where are they coming from?' Patreus asked.

'It must be further down the line,' Fegust said.

'Right lads,' Kodos cut in, 'first thing's first. We take these ones out – they're clustered together, a few potshots should set them off. Then we find the source.'

As the best marksman among them, Nasty got tapped. He dropped in ahead of the mines, just out of their blast range. He snapped off a couple of shots then leapt up. Nothing happened. The bulbous mines continued their drift forwards.

'You missed,' Kodos said.

Nasty swore. He dropped back to the ground, moving his position a few metres backward. Alaster hovered above, looking down on the scene. He had to keep adjusting his thrusters – the wind kept nudging them around. He could hear it in the trees that were scattered around. The rotten branches flexed and groaned in the breeze. The spore mines below were silent, not even a rustle as they glided slowly forwards. The sunlight penetrated some way into their translucent sacks, lighting up the greenish interiors. They almost seemed to glow with menace. Long tendrils hung below them, flexing in the breeze.

There were two more roars in short succession. Nasty was trying to double-tap the mines. 'Missed again,' he reported. 'It's the wind – it keeps nudging my shots. I'm going to try from behind.'

'Wait!' Kodos shouted. 'No!'

It was too late. Nasty's thrusters had already lit. He sprang up, arcing forwards. Toward the mines. Alaster stared in horror. His hearts were in his mouth.

At the last instant, Nasty realised his mistake. He pulled up. As he did the backdraft from the thrusters played over one of the mines. Its surface crisped and rippled.

With a loud bang, it exploded. A spray of acid fell over the neighbouring mines. A chain reaction set in. Bang after bang resounded through the air. Moments later, stillness settled over the ground below. The ground was discoloured and angry plumes of steam rose from puddles of half-digested vegetation.

Hovering above the devastation, Nasty said, 'Wow.'

'Shepherd.' Kodos did not sound happy. 'Don't do that again. You were very nearly killed. Go _around_ mine-fields, not _through_ them. Do you understand?'

'Uh – yes, Sergeant.' Nasty sounded embarrassed. 'Uh, sorry.'

'You would've been if those blew on top of you,' Kodos growled.

Alaster breathed with relief.

'The mines are gone,' Eorvan noted laconically.

'True,' Kodos agreed. 'And that's just as well, Shepherd. Otherwise I'd be after your hide. Do you know how much your geneseed treatment cost?'

Inside his helmet, Alaster was smiling. He knew that in spite of his moaning, the sergeant was actually relieved that Nasty was okay. The complaining was Kodos's way of dealing with the stressful situation.

'I see some more mines,' Patreus said. He was pointing off to one side from the track. Alaster peered. Sure enough, Patreus was right. There was another drift!

'So they're coming from the south,' mused Kodos. 'Okay – I guess we're going that way.'

They moved to the south. As they did, they paused to destroy the min-swarm. This time they picked up some rocks. Then, hovering above the things, but out of the mines' range, they dropped rocks on them until they detonated. It didn't take long. Spore mines were destructive but they weren't intelligent. Beyond moving and exploding, they showed no awareness of their surroundings.

The mines destroyed, the marines flew on.

Ahead of them was a clearing in the trees. In it sat a peculiar beast. It looked a little like a cross between a gigantic tortoise and an armadillo. Its back was covered with overlapping chitin plates. Between them there bulged ugly gland-sacs. The plating was interrupted by several chimney-like tubes. As the marines watched, the monster spat three mines out of them. They shot upwards before arcing down toward the ground. Under pressure from the breeze, they drifted off.

'Biovore,' Kodos said. 'So that's where they're coming from. I'd better report this.'

They hovered, watching the biovore. The marines were screened by some branches. The sun was at their backs. With any luck they'd be lost in the glare. The biovore showed no awareness of their presence.

A moment later, Kodos reported back. 'No big surprises,' he said. 'Thorbjornsson wants it destroyed. So it's another chance to bring the storm, Brothers.'

The marines observed the biovore for a couple of minutes. Between them, they should be able to take it down. The main danger was that it might vomit some mines right onto them while they were fighting. That would be bad. They watched it disgorge a couple more crops of mines. They noted there was a minute or so's delay between releases. It seemed growing the things took the biovore a finite time.

'Well I'm glad these things have some limits,' Patreus observed.

A simple plan was formed. When the biovore next released some mines, the Ravens would descend on it. They'd pop the mines, spraying the alien with its own acid. With any luck, that would damage it. Kodos doubted that it would kill it outright. However it would hurt it. Then, with the biovore in its injured state, they would move in for the kill.

'I see something in the tubes,' Sandrer reported.

Some sort of mass was bulging in one of the tubes. It was disgusting. Alaster grimaced inside his helmet. The mass rose toward the top. A bulging sack swelled out of the tube. Several more followed suit from the other tubes.

The first mine slithered out. Its rippling surface glistened in the sunlight.

'Eurgh,' Sandrer said.

It was followed by another. The third, they could see, was nearly ready.

'We move on three,' Kodos ordered. 'Remember, shots first. Don't close until the sacks have popped. One. Two. Three.'

Jump packs roared. The marines leapt into action. They landed a few metres upwind of the monster. Bolt pistols roared. This time, the shots went off as planned. Three mines burst in quick succession. One of them destroyed a surviving patch of grass. The other two splashed back onto the biovore. It jerked, releasing a keening wail.

'Attack!' Kodos shouted.

The Ravens attacked. Chainswords growled. Bolt pistols roared. Chitin cracked. A swipe from a clawed leg sent Alaster tumbling. He hit the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs. He struggled to his feet.

Patreus and Nasty were hacking away at the monster's legs, keeping it busy. Sandrer and Fegust were trying to get in place to strike its head. Obstinately, the Tyranid kept dodging out of their way.

Temporarily holstering his pistol, Alaster grabbed a stone from the ground. 'Hey!' he shouted. 'Over here!'

He threw it at the monster's head. It bounced off.

The head turned to glare at him-

Chainswords growled. Ichor sprayed out. The head flopped limply to the ground. The eyes glazed over.

'Got the skakker,' Nasty said with relish.

'One down,' Kodos agreed. 'Now we just need to hunt down those mines it sent out earlier…'

* * *

'I think it acts as a bellows,' Svein was saying. He was pointing to a pulsating dome nearby. It rose from the ground to a height of about twenty metres when fully-inflated. Its sides were veined with bulging greenish lines. It had a sort of circular opening at the top. As it rose, air whistled out of the hole with aloud hiss. 'We took the landspeeder right overhead. We got a look in there. There's a tunnel. It leads off toward the hive centre.' He pointed toward the black bulge that dominated the horizon. 'I think this thing is partly how that breathes. It forces air down the tunnel, to the centre.'

It was mid-day. The small army had finally fought its way to the waterside around the hive centre. The landscape behind them was a devastated mass of torn vegetation and shredded Nids. There they had briefly stalled. It seemed no-one had thought how to cross the water. Alaster gathered there'd been a vague plan to drive the Land Raider across the bed. A quick investigation, however, had showed that the bed was too silty. If they took the Land Raider down there, it would get bogged down.

Clearly, a new plan was needed.

A reconnaissance of the shoreline had revealed that it was ringed by these pulsing domes. The things moved in synchrony – it looked like breathing. If that wasn't what it was then Alaster had no idea.

The army was paused on the shoreline. The Blood Claw packs and the Storm Ravens squad were drawn up in a defensive perimeter, with the Long Fangs and Grey Hunter packs behind. The landspeeders had been sent off to scout. They had just come back. Thorbjornsson himself had come forward to hear their report. He was stood a couple of metres to Alaster's left. Alaster was trying hard not to stare at the Terminator. Nasty kept eyeing his storm bolter with evident curiosity.

Thorbjornsson had his Terminator helmet off, at least for the moment. Alaster was privately relieved by that. The helmet was an intimidating thing. It had been sculpted into a snarling wolf's head, with ears laid flat and the respirator cunningly built into the angry fangs. Thorbjorrnsson himself had faded blond hair, tied back in a thick braid. His face was a mass of scars. His mouth bore and impressive set of canines. Like Kodos, he had an artificial eye.

Both that eye and the natural one were trained on Svein. 'This tunnel,' he said. 'How big is it?'

Svein's beard rippled in the wind. Alaster saw how he'd got his name – Svein had shaved off the sideburns, all the way to the edges of his chin. Like Thorbjorrnsson, his helmet was temporarily hanging from his belt. He held his hands a foot or so apart. 'Big, my lord. At least thirty metres.'

'Was it straight down?' Thorbjornsson asked.

Svein shook his head. 'No. One side of it sloped up – about thirty degrees. The top end of it was smooth with the mouth. We thought it might double as a sally port for the Nids.'

Thorbjornsson nodded. 'I'm sure that's exactly what it is,' he said. 'If these things are like lungs, then they must communicate into the main centre. That means they must go through – or under – the water. And they're big enough to get the_ Ulfhednar_ though. I think we have our Plan B.'

*

'This is gross.'

The spongy tissue under Nasty's boots squidged as he put his foot down. Mucus spurted out from under the sole.

'It'll be toast soon enough, Brother,' Kodos reminded them. Nonetheless there was disgust in his voice.

Privately, Alaster agreed with Nasty. The tunnel was unpleasant. Everything was organic. The walls were made of pale Nid-flesh, marked out with traceries of greenish veins. If you put your hand on it, you could feel the walls pulsing as the life-giving ichor flowed through them. The air in the tunnel was warm and humid, interrupted periodically by gales of cold wind as the hive centre inhaled. The place had a faint, rotten smell. It had left Alaster feeling twitchy. He just wanted the place destroyed. From the reactions of his fellow Marines, Alaster knew he wasn't the only one feeling this way. They were surrounded on all sides by Tyranid – literally. The entire structure was one big living organism. It wasn't the kind of environment that would make Space Marines cheerful. Alaster's boot splashed in a puddle of something. He shuddered. He didn't look – sometimes ignorance was bliss.

Forget about Astartes: this place wouldn't make _anyone_ cheerful.

That smell. It was so offensive. It was like the odour of decay that had hung around elsewhere on the planet, only so much more intense. He supposed it must be the scent of Tyranid, concentrated by their surroundings. He'd only taken off his helmet for a few minutes but it had seemed to get stuck in his nose.

He took another step forward. The floor squished under his boot. Alaster shuddered.

'Pay attention, Karo,' he heard Kodos say.

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster said, feeling embarrassed. He tried to focus on something aside from his own feeling of revulsion.

So far the tunnel plan was working. They'd left the landspeeders behind to cover their rear as they moved deeper into the tunnel. With any luck that would prevent anything chasing after them. Up ahead, the tunnel seemed to branch out. From the time they had been inside, they'd covered at least a mile. That must mean they were close to the core of the hive centre. Alaster hoped so. The sooner they were out of this place, the better.

Overhead a glowing orange ball flickered. It was about the same size and shape as an eye, mounted into the ribbed tunnel-roof in a kind of bony protrusion. There were lots of them, mounted in lines along each side of the tunnel. They were the main source of light, some sort of bioluminescence. Up ahead was a thicker bone structure, a sort of arc. It seemed to open out onto some kind of larger space.

Alaster heard a crackle in his earphones.

'Sergeant Kodos.' It was Thorbjornsson – on an open line, Alaster noted.

'Yes sir?' Kodos replied politely.

'That opening up in front. Take your men and scout it out. I want a terrain report. If you meet any Nids, engage them but call us. We'll be there as soon as we can.'

'Yes my lord,' Kodos replied formally. To the squad, he said, 'You heard the man, lads. We're getting close now. Not much longer and we'll be out of here.'

Alaster glanced over his shoulder. The Land Raider and its guard of Space Wolves was behind them. It rumbled forwards. Its motion was inexorable – Alaster couldn't imagine any force stopping it. The damp confines of the tunnel didn't seem to pose any problems for its tracks. He found the presence of the transport reassuring.

'Team Eorvan,' Kodos said, 'you're in the lead this time. Team Karo, you'll be providing cover. Now move!'

The marines engaged their jump packs. Alaster was lifted off of the organic floor. He was glad to see it go. To his disgust, some Nid-stuff dripped from his boots.

They moved toward the arch. Targeting graphics swam in front of Alaster's eyes. His pistol was gripped in one hand and his chainsword in the other. The arch passed overhead. Alaster blinked as the light brightened.

The tunnel opened out onto a large cavity. Alaster was put in mind of a central atrium in a large building. The light was brighter in here. Looking up, to his surprise, he saw a ring of daylight up above!

He disengaged his jump pack, dropping to the floor in front of him. He flexed his knees on landing. He felt the floor subside a little under him. Again, he shuddered.

He heard a rushing noise from the tunnel. And instant later, a strong gust of wind buffeted him. Suddenly, Alaster realised what the tunnel was for. The creature breathed in through the tunnels and out through this. It was a blowhole!

'There's a ramp,' Patreus said.

Blinking, Alaster realised he was right. Running up the sides of the cavity was a spiralling ramp. It ran all the way to the blowhole above. Alaster realised the structure must have a double function – it must also be an access point for the surface of the hive centre.

'Watch out,' Nasty said. 'There's skak at the bottom!'

Alaster looked down. The ramp spiralled down a few levels below them. At the bottom was a revolting sight. A circular ring of boney growth, enclosing a bubbling pool of bio-acid. It was at least twenty metres wide. Fumes drifted lazily above its surface. The translucent greenish liquid gave an impression of depth.

'Acid pool,' Eorvan said. 'They probably fly stuff in through the hole and drop it in there. Lunch.'

'Whatever you do,' Kodos said, 'try not to fall in that, okay?'

Alaster needed no urging.

His earphones crackled. 'Thorbjornsson here. What's the status of the area?'

Kodos spoke. 'The good news. There's a route to the roof. A ramp leading up. And a skakking great hole with daylight coming in.'

'That sounds promising. And the bad?'

Kodos hesitated for a moment. Then: 'It's quiet here. Weirdly quiet. No contacts.'

Alaster looked around. Kodos was right. Aside from the hive centre itself, he couldn't see any Tyranids. He strained his ears. Aside from the steady _shush-hiss_ of the monster's breathing and the bubbling of the acid below, it was quiet.

'Okay.' Thorbjornsson's voice sounded cynical amongst the crackling. 'That means they're massing somewhere, then. We'll keep moving forward. See if you can flush them out – run them onto our guns.'

'Yes sir,' Kodos replied. To the squad, he said, 'Let's move up. My guess is they'll be outside the blowhole. We have to go that way anyway – so let's get this over with!'

Alaster waved Nasty and Patreus into formation. The Ravens lit their jump packs, ascending through the space. They stayed clear of the walls, keeping as much distance from the ramp as they could. As they rose Alaster kept half a way eye on the pool below. Fortunately the vapours didn't seem to rise very far. He wondered what would happen if any of them got into the thrusters in hic pack. Just how corrosive could it be? He didn't want to find out.

The lip of the blowhole loomed overhead. Bright sunlight flooded in. The circle of blue sky expanded above them. Alaster watched with growing eagerness. How wonderful it would be, to leave this monstrous thing!

As they approached, he noted the blowhole was ringed with the same kind of bony material they'd seen before. The ring was supported by bone bands – they sank into the fleshy walls around the ring. The bone must be the key support for this structure. The hive centre was fascinating in some ways, Alaster had to reluctantly concede. It was still repellent in others, though.

They were nearing the lip now. The bright sunlight washed out the inner details of the hive centre. They were level with the lip. They started up. Alaster's head rose above it-

Shapes. Movement. Blurred outlines. Shadows against the sky.

Instinct took over. Alaster fired his jump pack even harder. He was slammed up into the sky. The blowhole shrunk below him. Several other flares showed the rest of the squad following him.

There was a flash of green. He heard a hiss-crackle. A backwash of hot air slammed into him. Alaster was thrown into a spin. He tumbled head over heels. Another plasma bolt hissed past him.

His thrusters roared. Alaster managed to kill the spin. He was breathing hard inside his helmet. He looked down. Around the blowhole were a mass of Tyranids.

'Skak,' he said.

There was a crackle. 'What's going on?' It was Thorbjornsson.

'We've got Nids,' Kodos reported. 'Lots of them!' Another plasma bolt crackled past. 'And lots of plasma-shitters!'

'Suppose that was what all the copper was for,' Eorvan put in.

Alaster brought his pistol up. He fired a couple of shots into the mass below. The gun jerked in his hand. He didn't even see where the bolts landed. It was useless. There were too many Nids. His gun just didn't have the rate of fire he needed for this work.

Another flash of green. He killed his thrusters. He dropped. The plasma bolt travelled harmlessly overhead. Alaster fired the thrusters again, arresting his fall.

'Those guns,' he said. 'We need to get under their range!'

'He's right,' Kodos said. 'Close-quarters it is, everyone. Chainswords at the ready!'

Alaster made himself drop again. He jerked to one side, another plasma bolt narrowly missing him. The mass of aliens was coming up fast. Alaster got his first clear look at them. He was surprised – he didn't recognise any of the breeds below.

'Hey, what are these freaks?' It was Nasty.

'I don't know these ones,' Eorvan put in.

'Some new mutation, I guess,' Kodos speculated.

'I'm not seeing many claws,' Patreus put in.

Alaster dodged another plasma bolt. He realised Patreus was right. Almost all of these Nids had plasma tubes. That gave Alaster some hope. They'd be lethal at long range but easy to get under at close. He looked again at the xenos below. They looked a bit like larger Gaunts, but stood more upright and with long tails. He wondered if the tails were to counterbalance the recoil from the bioplasma tubes they all seemed to carry.

'Some new mutation,' Kodos speculated. 'This Hive Mind seems prone to experiment.'

'Why all the plasma, though?' Patreus asked. Alaster saw him dodge a blast.

'Perhaps they meant to fry us on the ramp,' Sandrer speculated. 'You know, shoot down through the hole?'

Alaster was only metres from the hive centre roof now. He shoved his pistol into its holster. He gripped his blade in both hands, one on the hilt, one on the housing. He killed his thrusters. He dropped like a stone. He landed on top of one of the aliens. It crunched under him. Ichor fountained up. Alaster bent his knees as he landed. He swung his chainsword out to one side. It bit into an alien. He swept it onwards, batting the Nid away.

One of them leapt at him. It hefted its plasma tube like a club. Alaster ducked. The tube swung past his head. He jerked his blade back, crashing it into the monster's stomach. It slammed into the blade. It fell, stunned, to the ground. Alaster stamped on its thorax.

A shadow fell over the corpse. Alaster spun. He kicked the monster behind it, knocking its leg out from under it. He swung the chainsword. One stroke later and the xeno wouldn't cause any more trouble.

Two aliens threw themselves at Alaster together. He pulled one hand from his sword, holding it open. It was a risky manoeuvre – he deliberately exposed his chest. The closest alien sprang for it. As it did, Alaster slammed the chainsword back. It smacked into the alien's throat. It was pinned against his breastplate, held by its neck. He put his free hand under it, beneath its back. He swung it up.

The other charging xeno collided with its hindquarters.

The chainsword roared. The first xeno's head was severed. Alaster threw the rest of it forward. It knocked the second one off-balance – just long enough for Alaster to punch it to the ground. He felt its skull shatter under his fist. It fell lifelessly to the ground.

Momentarily free of enemies, Alaster looked around.

To his left, he saw Kodos behead an alien, then immediately engage another one. To his right he watched Nasty, who was gleefully chopping xenos apart with his borrowed axe. Beside him was Patreus. As Alaster watched, Patreus got an alien in a headlock. After a moment's wrestling with the thing, Alaster heard its neck break with a crack. Patreus hurled the body into a charging crowd of aliens. Their advance was broken – they scattered, stunned and dazed.

Nasty and Patreus charged them with chainswords.

Alaster heard movement behind him. He turned – to be confronted by Kodos. The sergeant's armour was splattered with alien blood. A gout had splashed across his helmet. Kodos had wiped the region around his eyelenses clear but hadn't bothered with the rest. The mess gave him a savage appearance.

Kodos pointed. 'There's a dense knot over there. We're going to take them down!'

'Yes Sergeant!'

Alaster fell in at Kodos's side as they plunged into the mass of aliens.

Several minutes of hacking, slashing and parrying ensued. Sword thrust after thrust was followed by quick feints and side-strokes. Repeatedly, Alaster left himself open to invite attack – only to kick the surprised alien in some painful body-part. The key to sword-fighting, surprising as it might sound, was not to forget the rest of your body. If your opponent was focused on the blade in your hand, they might well miss the foot heading for their knee, or the fist swinging in from the side. The sword-fighting style Alaster had been trained in was focused and violent – and that was the whole point. It wasn't about looking pretty or satisfying some sense of honour – for the Ravens, honour lay in victory. War offered no second prizes and a dead alien was more use than a dead Space Marine.

As he fought, Alaster was focused on his task. His world contracted down to him and his enemy. He had no thought beyond where the next attack might come from, that and how to counter it. Thrust, cut and parry. The air was filled with the growling of chainblades and the sound of chitin cracking under powerful strokes.

After a while, the pace of combat slowed. Alaster found himself stood, surrounded by the mangled remains of dead Tyranids. He looked around for his next opponent. He saw no-one except his brother-marines. They were stood atop the Hive Centre. The smooth, leathery surface was playing host to a scene of carnage. Heaps of dismembered xenos lay everywhere. Alaster noted he was breathing hard. He took big, slow breathes, deliberately slowing his racing hearts.

'Well,' Kodos said, 'that went okay.' He sounded satisfied.

'They had the wrong weapons,' Eorvan noted.

'They had the right ones for their plan,' Kodos shrugged. 'Sadly for them, we had one of our own.'

Just then Alaster was alerted to a rising rumble. As he watched, the _Ulfhednar_'s grey bulk rose out of the blowhole. The massive Land Raider ground forward onto the top of the hive centre. Spilling out after it came the Space Wolves.

Their earphones crackled. 'Kodos.' It was Thorbjornsson. He sounded amused. 'You could've left some for us!'

*

'These need to go in these four points.' A map flickered in the air above the Terminator's massive gauntlet. A single slate sat on his palm. Red dots glinted on the map, at several locations. 'While you're placing the charges on the towers, we'll be setting the beacons.'

Alaster and the others watched Thorbjornsson respectfully as the Wolf Lord spoke. In his hands Alaster was holding a meltabomb. There had been several stashed aboard the _Ulfhednar_. With them, the Assault Marines were going to destroy the hive centre's air defences.

'Okay,' Kodos agreed, watching the map. 'How are we for timescales?'

'We need the charges set by 1210,' Thorbjornsson said. 'I'm going to call for the Thunderhawk in a few minutes – have to factor in flight-time from here to the base. I'll set the beacons once the Thunderhawk lands. Once the beacons activate, we've got ten minutes to get clear of this place. That should be enough – but we don't need any problems.'

Kodos nodded. 'Understood, my lord. With your permission, we'll start moving immediately.'

Thorbjornsson nodded. 'Granted.' He put the slate into a pouch. Then his massive Terminator fist replaced his helmet. The catches snicked shut. Alaster could see the squad, reflected in the eyelenses. 'We need to prepare. This lull won't last. Another attack must be imminent. The sooner you're done, the better.'

Kodos nodded. 'Yes. We'll move out immediately.' He briefly saluted the Wolf Lord, then he turned to the squad. 'Have you all got your bombs?'

Alaster raised his. Every other marine checked in.

'Good,' Kodos said. 'Let's go.'

Their jump packs ignited. They were hurled into the air. The roof of the hive centre fell away below. Alaster looked down, a quick backward glance. The Space Wolves were setting up the first of the beacons. The landspeeders had been recalled to the hive centre roof. They were keeping watch over the blowhole, along with two Blood Claw packs. Anything trying to counter-attack through that would meet fierce resistance. The area around the hole was still awash with alien remains. The Space Wolves strode confidently through the carnage, ignoring the dead xenos. Alaster was impressed by the amount of destruction he and his brothers had wrought. Thinking back on the fight, he supposed he must have slain at least a couple of dozen of aliens. It seemed about right, although he hadn't been keeping track at the time. Multiply that damage level by all seven warriors in the squad and the scene of destruction below started fitting in.

Kodos's voice crackled in his ears. 'Listen up, brothers,' he said. 'This is the plan. Team Karo, you're taking the south-east and south-west towers. Team Eorvan, you're with me. We're taking the northern ones. Karo, if you run into any trouble, don't hesitate – call the landspeeders. The Long Fangs can probably give you fire support, too. The towers should be in range for the plasma cannon. Have you got that?'

'Loud and clear, Sergeant,' Alaster reported.

'Okay. Now you need to head south – go!'

Alaster looked at Nasty and Patreus, flying beside him. 'Let's go,' he said. They turned south.

The air defences were plasma tubes mounted on the docking towers. There were lots of them. Luckily for the marines on the roof, they were all oriented either upwards or outwards – none in. But disabling them individually wasn't an option. The only way to get them was to take the docking pylons down. Each Raven was carrying two meltabombs – one for each of the towers his squad was sent to. Three bombs, distributed around the towers, should be enough to take them down.

The sun was high in the sky now. Midday would shortly arrive. It was hard to believe they'd only been here since sunrise. It felt like much longer. Alaster glanced down at the veined skin of the hive centre. Seen from close up, it was more greyish-brown then the near-black it had appeared earlier. It was no less ugly.

'We go to the south-west tower first,' he told Nasty and Patreus. 'That's nearer.'

'You're the boss,' Nasty allowed.

They turned toward the western tower. Moments later, they were setting down beside it. It was a tall, spindly structure. Close up it somewhat resembled a spinal column, its chitinous vertebrae coated with vine-like thickets of veins and corrugated, trachea-like conduits. It tapered somewhat, being ten metres wide at its base but narrowing to about four near its tip. As he stood beside it, Alaster looked up. The organic pylon rose into the sky. It was, he knew, another hundred metres to the top. The thing was swaying a little, in the light wind.

Here and there, plasma tubes sprouted from it like spines on a cactus.

'Wasn't this where the dirigible was?' Patreus asked.

Nasty nodded. 'You're right. That thing was docked here, earlier.'

Alaster thought back to the morning. Yes – he remembered seeing it, the bulging organic sack suckling itself on one of these towers. 'I guess it's gone,' he said.

'First prize for observation,' Nasty said.

'Hey! You should be polite! He's in charge!' Patreus was, as ever, offended by Nasty's attitude. Actually, Alaster suspected, Patreus wasn't really bothered by it anymore. The pair of them just enjoyed sparring with each other.

'Yeah but he still stated the obvious.'

Alaster sighed long-sufferingly. He unclipped his first meltabomb from his belt and placed it next to his boot. 'Okay you two, let's get on with this. Get your bombs. Nasty, hand me the reel.'

Nasty had a meltabomb gripped awkwardly in one hand. With his other he fished inside a belt pouch. He dug out the reel of detonator-wire and handed it to Alaster. 'Thank you,' Alaster said. 'Patreus, the auspex please.'

Patreus handed him the device. 'Thanks,' Alaster acknowledged. 'Okay, you two, get these bombs in place. Distribute along the inner face of the tower. We want it blown outward. I'd suggest one every sixty degrees. While you're doing that, I'll get this thing rigged up.'

The three Storm Ravens went to work. Alaster fiddled with the auspex, trying to get the wire engaged into the right socket. It was made somewhat difficult by his bulky gauntlets. The auspex was built to Space Marine scale but sadly the wire wasn't. As he fumbled with it, Alaster thought rude words about Standard Template Constructs, and the nonsense that resulted when the Adeptus Mechanicus insisted on taking the idea a bit too far. Finally, with a click, the wire slipped into place. Alaster tested the connection, tugging on it gently. It seemed okay. It would stand up to normal stresses. There was no risk of it just falling out.

'We're ready,' Patreus reported.

Alaster looked up. They had distributed the meltabombs along the inside face of the tower, just as he'd ordered. 'Good,' he said. He walked over. He dropped to one knee and set about wiring up the bombs to the auspex. When the time came and Thorbjornsson sent the signal, the device would pick it up and set off the charges. Alaster looked up the tower. He stared at the top, outlines against the blue sky. And when that happened, this thing would fall.

Nodding to himself, he stood up and stepped back. He tapped his helmet. 'Karo to Kodos.'

'Yes?'

'Good news, Sergeant. The first tower's set to blow.'

'Okay. Any incidents?'

'Not this time.'

'Good. Now get onto the second one.'

'On it,' Alaster said. He looked up at Nasty and Patreus, noting his small reflections in their eyelenses. 'Time for us to move, Brothers.'

A few minutes later, they reached the next tower. The bombs were unloaded and Nasty and Patreus set about placing them. Alaster was knelt down again, fiddling with the wires.

Something caught his attention. Startled, he looked up. He glanced around. No, no-one there. It was just him and the other two. He could hear the wind, sighing over the hive centre. Taking his helmet off for a moment, he sniffed the air. He could smell the stench of the hive centre. It wasn't as overpowering out here as it had been inside, but he didn't like it. It was a rancid, sickly-sweet odour. The only comparison he could think of was too-sugary sweets crossed with bad body odour. It was foul. He hurriedly replaced his helmet and went back to work.

Briefly, he wondered why that scent gave him such a violent reaction. He wondered if it was something to do with his geneseed or his transformation into a Space Marine. Was he programmed to respond that way to anything alien? Alaster felt a momentary disquiet. He wasn't sure that he was entirely happy with the idea that some of his own reactions were dictated to him by what he was.

Sternly, he reminded himself that it was long past the time to worry about things like that. And anyway, given what a horror the Nids were, disgust and loathing were perfectly rational reactions.

He was just sliding a wire into place when the Gaunt landed on him.

Alaster felt a big weight slam into his back. Startled, he was knocked down. Dropping the wires and the auspex he hit the ground. Something chittered above him. He felt multiple contacts. He heard claws scrape on his armour.

'Skak!' he shouted.

Alaster tried to roll. A taloned arm stabbed down into the hive centre to his left. The Gaunt pushed back. Startled, he found his roll aborted. Alaster realised it had him pinned!

It chattered triumphantly.

'Alaster! What the-?' It was Patreus.

'Get it off me – skak!' He felt the Nid move. Pain stabbed in his left leg. He realised the alien had just stabbed him behind his knee, where there was a gap in his armour. A graphic was flashing on his displays, showing the damage.

'We've got more!' It was Nasty. He heard a bolt pistol roar. 'They're coming down the tower – out of the top! Loads of them!'

Pain flared in Alaster's leg again. The Gaunt was moving its claw. It was trying to cut the tendons, he realised. The alien was trying to hamstring him!

His hands were underneath him. They were held down by his weight and the downward pressure of the xeno on his backpack. With difficulty, he managed to move them. Once he had them in position, he _pushed_.

He shoved himself upwards. He felt the nerves in his leg strobe with agony. Gritting his teeth, he ignored it. He felt the Nid's talon tear free of his leg. He wiggled his toes. To his relief, they still moved. The alien hadn't crippled him.

He limped to his feet. Red human blood was splashed around him on the floor. He looked for the alien, grasping his chainsword. He turned. Where was it?

Something chattered behind him. Alaster looked down. He saw an arm, looped over his backpack. Oh no. It was still there, hitching a ride!

'Alaster!' It was Patreus. 'Turn round!'

He did what he was told. A bolt pistol roared. A hammer-blow of force knocked Alaster off his feet. He toppled to the ground. As he did the dead Tyranid rolled off of him. Patreus's bolt had torn a ragged hole in its back. The shot had gone all the way through.

Luckily, it hadn't penetrated his ceramite armour.

'Okay, thanks,' he said, breathing hard. His leg was still on fire. Alaster pulled himself into a sitting position. Willing the pain away, he looked at the tower. Gaunts were streaming down it. Nasty was picking them off with his bolt pistol but more were coming. Alaster unholstered his pistol and started shooting. Patreus joined in.

'Karo!' It was Kodos. 'What is going on over there?'

'Nid attack, Sergeant,' Alaster reported. 'Gaunts. They're coming out of the tower. I guess it's hollow.' As he spoke he fired another shot. Ichor sprayed from a gaunt's head. It topped lifelessly from the tower.

'Okay. Keep them suppressed. I'll be with you in a minute.'

As ordered, Alaster kept shooting. He tried not to look at the shiny red blood running down the blue-black greave on his left leg. There was a puddle spreading by his boot. He was feeling shaky and a little nauseous. Maybe also a little light-headed. He felt dazed, even a little surprised. He wondered if the daze was due to blood loss. How much had already fallen out? Did he need medical attention? Had the Nid cut something important, a vein or an artery?

Reluctant as he was to admit it, he felt a touch of fear.

He fired another shot. Then he glanced down and felt silly. Even as he watched, the flow was subsiding. His enhanced body was already closing the wound. A normal human could bleed out through a hole like that – but Alaster wasn't a normal human anymore. He sighed with relief. He wasn't in any danger after all.

A moving shape caught his eye. He realised it was Kodos, flying in on his jump pack. But the sergeant wasn't flying toward them. He was flying toward the tower. Alaster wondered what he was doing.

Kodos went up. He was hovering right above it. A Gaunt, newly-emerged, waved its claws aggressively from below him. This proved a mistake. Kodos shot it in the face. It fell from the tower. Then Kodos dropped something into the tower.

A few moments passed. Then there was a bang and the tower shook. A puff of smoke spurted out of the end. The flow of Gaunts stopped.

'Grenade,' Kodos explained. 'I picked up a couple in the Land Raider. Now we just need to pot the survivors.'

The marines finished off the remaining Gaunts quickly and efficiently. Then they finished setting the charges, the process having been so rudely interrupted earlier.

Once they were done, Kodos landed. He reported in to Thorbjornsson. 'All the charges are set,' he said, 'but we had a bug attack at one of the towers. Seems they can double as sally-ports.'

'Right,' the Wolf Lord's voice said. 'In that case, I'm blowing the towers now. Get your men away from them, Sergeant.'

'Yes sir,' Kodos replied. 'Back to the rally point, squad!'

The marines flew toward the blowhole and the Wolves, Eorvan's team coming in from the north and Alaster's from the south. A few seconds after they took off there was a bang and an eruption of smoke from each tower's base. The towers spasmed and shook. Then, slowly and majestically, they each toppled outwards, plunging like felled trees toward the water far below. Alaster watched one of them as it descended, tumbling and bouncing off of the hive centre slope a few times. Finally, it hit the water with a splash and a plume of spray. It vanished from sight.

Shortly after, they were back at the blowhole.

'Okay, listen up everyone.' It was Thorbjornsson's voice. 'I've contacted HQ. The beacons are all in place. The Thunderhawk is coming. It'll be here in fifteen minutes. The ships are also overhead, approaching position for bombardment. In fourteen minutes' time, I'm going to set the beacons. That gives us nine minutes to get aboard and get clear. I'll start the countdown shortly.

'Eirik and Haakon, Svein and Thorolf – you're to jump your landspeeders out at six minutes to. Unfortunately there isn't room for your speeders inside the Thunderhawk, so you need to get out by yourselves. Do it on maximum thrust. You need to be at least beyond the mountains, preferably further. When the fireworks go off here – it's going to be spectacular. You don't want to be underneath them. Got that?'

'Yes my lord,' Haakon reported in.

'Good. Now, that's all the good news. The bad news is, there's signs of movement in the chamber below us. I think the Nids may have cottoned onto what we're doing. Blowing the pylons may've given it away, I think. So, Brothers, your task is to stop anything cresting this lip.' Alaster watched as the Wolf Lord reinforced his point by stamping a boot on the bone rim of the blowhole. 'Kodos and the Ravens – I want you to se t up an aerial perimeter. Try and engage anything that comes through the air. The _Ulfhednar_ will give you support. Got that?'

'Received and understood,' Kodos said. 'With permission we'll get airborne straight away.'

'Do that. Now for the rest of you…'

But Alaster wasn't listening. Trying to ignore the still-throbbing pain in his left leg, he lifted off. The injury was annoying but it wasn't crippling. A Space Marine could fight on in this sort of condition – so that was exactly what he was going to do. Alaster supposed that if nothing else, he could look Fegust and Nasty in the eye now.

A couple of minutes later and the Ravens were circling a patrol-ring over the blowhole sight. From the sounds below, it seemed Thorbjornsson's fears about an attack from below were justified – shooting had started about a minute after the Ravens were airborne. Alien shapes kept springing up from the hole – only to be ripped to shreds by the waiting Wolves.

'There!' It was Sandrer. 'I see something!' He transmitted a vector to everyone.

Alaster looked. Yes – there were shapes flying toward them. Leathery wings, flapping. Sharp talons, held in readiness. Alaster had a brief flashback to the outpost in the delta. He remembered holding onto the rope, trying to fend off the Gargoyles.

And here they were, coming back for a rematch.

'We let them come to us,' Kodos told the marines. 'When they do, we destroy them. Remember, lads, we only need to handle a few minutes of this – then it's all over. Get ready!'

The Gargoyles were closing. There were two waves of them, six in each, Alaster noted. So two xenos each, or thereabouts. He nodded to himself. That seemed workable.

He gestured to Nasty and Patreus, positioning them on either side of him. The marines hovered on their thrusters, waiting.

The aliens also had gun-like symbiotes, Alaster noted. They held them in a spare pair of limbs underneath their bodies. Presumably these weren't plasma weapons or they'd already have fired.

The aliens flapped closer. Then they started firing. Little black lumps were hurled from their hissing guns. Alaster stared, wondering what was going on. The lumps were sprayed far and wide.

Suddenly his earphones crackled. 'Ten minutes!' Thorbjornsson's voice announced.

Alaster felt a little impact. He looked down. One of the black lumps had hit his breastplate. It was unfolding into an ugly, beetle-like creature. It was scratching away at his armour with its clawed limbs. A fleshborer, he realised. He flicked it away with the tip of his sword.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'Attack, Brothers!'

Alaster waved Patreus and Nasty forward. The marines plunged into the fight. The force of the aerial charge startled the Gargoyles but they quickly regrouped. One swung a clawed hand at Alaster. He chopped it away with his chainblade. He saw Nasty take a hit from another one - then shoot it in the face with his pistol.

Something thumped into Alaster's backpack. He spun himself, extending an arm. It smacked into the flying alien just behind him. Stunned, the alien was knocked down. Alaster took a shot at it – and missed. He tried again. Ichor sprayed from its head. He shot it again. It flopped and fell limply from the sky.

He turned around and looked for a new target. Another alien flung itself at him – straight onto his raised chainblade. It hit the blade with enough force to be torn clean in half. Alaster was blinded by the eruption of viscera and ichor. Quickly, he wiped his eyelenses clean.

He looked around. The first round of Gargoyles had been all but destroyed but another was on its way. 'More coming!' he heard Kodos shout. The sergeant pointed toward the next cloud of aliens.

'Eight minutes!' Thorbjornsson's voice announced.

The next wave of Gargoyles arrived. The marines set about them with fury. There were more of the aliens. This time, Alaster personally slew two of them. He chopped an arm off a third – in time for Nasty to shoot it in the back.

The two marines briefly eyed each other. 'Who gets credit for that?' Nasty asked.

Alaster gave it a second's thought. 'The squad. It was a team effort.'

'Okay.' Nasty lashed out at an approaching alien with his sword.

'Six minutes!' Thorbjornsson's voice said. 'Haakon, Svein, move!'

'Heard and obeyed,' Alaster heard Haakon say, with obvious reluctance. Alaster heard the landspeeders' engines whine. He waved his sword in a brief salute as the two vehicles rose up and moved into the distance.

As he did he caught a brief glimpse of the scene near the blowhole. There was fierce fighting. Some aliens had succeeded in spilling out. The Blood Claws had charged them. The area around the hole was now one big, brutal melee.

Alaster turned to hack apart the next Gargoyle.

Moments later, the latest wave had been broken. 'One more coming,' Sandrer reported, pointing.

'Any new casualties?' Kodos asked. 'No? Good. Stay sharp, Brothers.'

Alaster turned to face the latest wave of aliens as it approached.

'Four minutes!' Thorbjornsson said.

Alaster became aware of a new sound, a faint, rhythmic rumbling. He looked off toward the mountains. His hearts leapt for sudden joy. There it was – he could see the Thunderhawk, small in the distance but unmistakeable all the same! He zoomed his eyelenses in. Now he could see the Space Wolves banner proudly painted on its side, and the company badge with it.

'The Thunderhawk's coming!' he shouted.

The Gargoyles were closing. The marines engaged them. Bolt pistols roared. Chainswords growled. Aliens chattered. A stream of fleshborers was fired at Alaster. He dodged them, before decapitating the xeno with a surgical stroke of his blade. It was followed by a claw-attack by the alien behind it. Alaster swung his sword back around, chopping through a wing. Chitin crunched and ichor spurted out. The alien fell. It flapped its remaining wing uselessly.

Before it hit the ground, Alaster dispatched it with a neat headshot. He rejoined the fray. Around him, Ravens were shooting and hacking with focused aggression. Below them dead Gargoyles were strewn across the hive centre's roof.

'Two minutes!' Thorbjornsson announced.

Alaster could hear the engines now. He risked a glance up. The Thunderhawk was much bigger. He realised it was coming in for a roof landing! He supposed there probably was enough space atop the hive centre.

A Gargoyle hurled itself at him, talons outstretched. Alaster pulsed his thrusters, jerking himself forward, under the talons. He swung his sword-arm up. He slammed the pommel of the sword into the alien's chin. It was thrown backwards by the force of his blow. Alaster shot it with his pistol.

It fell from the sky.

He found himself another target. All around him, aliens were chittering and fighting and dying. The Space Marines were inflicting a huge toll on their foes. Alaster hacked at another xeno.

'One minute!' Thorbjornsson shouted. 'I'm setting the beacons!'

The marines finished off the last few aliens in their current wave. They hovered, awaiting the next rank. There it was – a flock of winged xenos, in the near-distance.

The Thunderhawk was closing on them. As it did, its guns joined the fight. Alaster watched in awe as a cloud of approaching Gargoyles was ripped to bloody confetti. Nasty started cheering.

The Thunderhawk circled the hive centre, forward engines firing, shedding speed. It slowed down, coming to a near-stop above the middle of the hive centre. It began to drop. It rotated its engines downwards. They fired. It settled, slow and majestic, descending on columns of flame.

It settled neatly onto the surface of the hive centre. The forward ramp dropped.

'To the Thunderhawk, Brothers!' Thorbjornsson shouted. 'We leave – in nine minutes' time, this place will fall under the Emperor's wrath!'

Alaster noted that the Space Wolves had just finished off the last of the xeno overspill from the blowhole. They cheered, waving axes and swords and bolters in the air. Then the _Ulfhednar_ rumbled into life. It began to roll toward the Thunderhawk The Wolves loped alongside it.

'You heard the man,' Kodos said. 'Let's get aboard.'

The Ravens fell in behind the Wolves, covering their flanks while the marines loaded themselves onto the Thunderhawk. As the last of them piled aboard, Fegust pointed at the blowhole. 'Look!' he said. 'Nids!'

Sure enough, alien forms were emerging from the hole.

'Forget them,' Kodos said. 'We're leaving.' He stepped onto the ramp.

Alaster and the others followed him, up into the belly of the Thunderhawk. Alaster walk backwards the whole way, refusing to turn his back on the encroaching aliens. He fired off a few token bolts, just for the sake of it. They might be leaving, but these xenos shouldn't be allowed to think they could defy the Emperor's servants with impunity, even for a few minutes.

Then he was inside the belly of the Thunderhawk. Pistons hissed. The ramp rose in front of him. The rectangle of daylight contracted. Then it closed off. He felt the engines rumble. He was jerked as he felt the Thunderhawk lift off.

Nasty had moved over to a porthole. 'Let's see what's happening,' he said.

Curiosity rising, Alaster joined him. He was breathing hard and fast, hearts racing. The battle was ending! It felt wrong somehow. He looked out of the window.

Down below, masses of Tyranids were pouring onto the skin of the hive centre. The counter-assault had begun in earnest – only too late. As the Thunderhawk rose, they dwindled into tiny, ant-like figures.

The Thunderhawk turned. Alaster got a view of the mountains. Then the afterburners kicked in. He stumbled as the massive spaceplane leapt forwards.

'Whoa!' Nasty said.

The mountains loomed. The Thunderhawk tilted up. As it did Alaster caught a glimpse of the monorail line and its tunnel. Then they disappeared out of sight. The Thunderhawk rumbled its way up and over the mountains, covering in instants the terrain that had taken the marines so long earlier in the day.

A minute or so later, the engines dropped in pitch. The Thunderhawk swung round. The mountain range reappeared in the portholes. Alaster wondered what was going on. They appeared to be hovering, a few miles away from the mountains.

The PA system came to life. 'Brothers.' It was Einar Thorbjornsson, speaking from the cockpit. He sounded pleased. 'Today we have struck a mighty victory for the Emperor and the Imperium. I thought you might like to see this. Behold, the cleansing of the hive!'

Alaster stared. There was movement in the sky! Beyond the mountains, stars were falling! As he watched, he saw a bright flash of light over the hills. A mushroom-shaped debris cloud swelled up.

Another flash. Another cloud.

Another flash-

And another-

Another-

He lost track. The land beyond the mountains was being pummelled. The flashes blurred together into an artificial sunrise. Finally, the largest bomb of them all hit home. This time, the light was unmistakeable. A blinding, violet-tinged white glare, a pulsing, burning dome of destruction rising over the mountains. It was the unmistakeable light of an atomic purge!

Looking down onto the plane below, Alaster realised he could see the shockwave. An expanding line of disruption, like some freakish ripple in the land. It was a line composed of trees and vegetation and loose earth, torn to pieces and thrown into the air by the supersonic force of the blast.

It was coming this way – and fast!

The Thunderhawk's engines rumbled into life. It turned and leapt up into the sky. As it dwindled into the heavens, the shockwave spread across the land below. The marines had won the day. The hive centre was destroyed. Beyond the mountains, nothing was left except fires, ash and a crater. The cover's water had been entirely boiled – the cove was simply gone. The crater's base was flooded with molten rock. It would be days before it cooled enough to solidify.

Over the devastated land hung a fat mushroom cloud. Underneath it, the first stages of atomic fallout were already beginning, raining further radioactive death onto the land adjacent to the former hive centre. It was truly a powerful marker of the Imperium's might, one that would endure as long as human life on this planet.

But that was not to be as long as the Space Marines had hoped.


	28. Chapter 28 Phelonas's Plan

In a rainswept town many miles from Creekside, Father Inyre walked up a staircase. It was in a dilapidated old house. From the outside, it was nothing special – just another dwelling-place amongst a tired old terrace that had seen better days. Behind the cracking paintwork and the sagging eaves, though, the house had a secret. It was an Originist safehouse, secretly acquired by the Church years before. Many victims of the Octalian purge had sought refuge here. It was crowded – Inyre stepping over slumped bodies on the stairs. The stairwell smelt of cheap alcohol, unwashed clothes and human despair.

Inyre had only found out about the house two weeks ago. Even that had been by accident. He'd been trying to contact the remnants of the Church, to see if he could help – and to find out where Tobias and his evil ally had gone. Someone had mentioned the house. Another rumour had reached Inyre's ears.

Supposedly, Janessa was here.

Apparently, she had been found in the main room a few days ago, unconscious. No-one heard her arrive, no-one recalled bringing her. The local Church-fragment was in uproar over her apparition. Rumour said she was the only Hierarch not jailed or dead. Inyre had felt no choice but to travel here to see her. It had been a nerve-wracking train journey. He'd sat there just waiting for an Arbites inspector or a civil policeman to come and demand his papers. But, by some miracle, none had.

So here he was, stood before a door on the second floor. It was marked by a brass plate saying 'ROOM 8'. The brass was scratched and dirty. He opened the door, slipping inside. It clicked shut behind him, the hinges complaining as they moved. They needed oiling, he noted.

The space inside was quieter, cooler. It was lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, inside a tattered old shade. The room had a window in the opposite wall. Long drapes hung down. Between them, Inyre could just see the balcony beyond. A plant pot was in view. The bottom sash of the window was up. The drapes stirred in the breeze. He could hear the rain and the town beyond through it. A cool draft stirred the air in the room.

The room was large and badly-lit. The bulb hung by the door. Its light was orange, too weak to fill the space. A circular pool of light was on the floor directly below but the rest of the room was half-shadowed.

Inyre surveyed the gloomy chamber.

In front of him was an old rug. It occupied most of the bulb's meagre light-circle. Beyond it, against the wall, was the only bit of furniture. It was a wooden bed with a tatty mattress. A woman lay on top of it. Her eyes were closed. The slow rise and fall of her chest was the only sign of life. In the half-light she resembled a mortuary statue, reclining on a bed-shaped casket.

Inyre looked at her. He swallowed. He looked appalled. It was Janessa. Her condition was worse then he'd heard. He knew she was ill – but this! He walked closer. She was in a bad state. Her skin was mottled with bruising. There was dried blood around her mouth, ears and nostrils. Below the discolouration, she was pale.

'Janessa? My lady?' Inyre reached toward her. There was no response. He touched her shoulder. She didn't move. Carefully, he lifted an eyelid. Her eye was bloodshot. The pupil dilated in the light, but didn't focus.

'My lady,' Inyre whispered, 'what happened to you?' He was shocked by this. That such a great woman could be reduced to this – this vegetable! Damn that Tobias! In fury, Inyre ground a fist against his palm. If he caught up with that man … Inside the privacy of his head, Inyre vowed to kill Tobias. The Emperor's vengeance was clearly called for.

He heard footsteps outside. Muffled voices. He froze, waiting for them to pass. They fell silent. He relaxed a little.

Then he heard a creak. He turned. The door handle rattled!

'…through here,' a deep voice said.

The handle moved again. Inyre felt panic. What to do?

The handle jerked.

Without conscious choice, Inyre moved. He sprinted across the room, ducking behind the drapes. He hesitated. He noticed the drapes stopped an inch short of the floor. His feet might be visible!

He heard the door groan. The hinges grumbled. It was opening.

Quickly, he climbed over the window sill, onto the rain-slicked balcony. He looked around. Next to him was the plantpot. On the other side of the balcony was a table. It was on one side, the tabletop visible from the window. He could duck behind that to hide.

He felt the rain. It was cool – a relief from the mugginess of the overcrowded refuge. He stood with his back to the wall next to the window. The plantpot was now in front of him, the balcony railing to his right. On his left, a rectangle of yellowish light spilled onto the wet balcony floor.

The door creaked. 'She's here,' a voice said.

Inyre frowned. That voice. It was reminiscent of something, somehow. He'd heard it before somewhere. He felt a shiver passing up his spine. It was a familiar shiver. Several times, it had saved his life during the Jenneko campaign. He hadn't felt it in years, but there it was. That feeling of wrongness he sometimes got in the presence of evil. On Jenneko, it had become his constant companion.

'Goodness,' a female voice said. 'She's a mess. What did you do to her?'

'Nothing,' the first voice replied, 'except save her worthless life from the Imperials.'

The door groaned again. He heard it click shut. Feet sounded on the floorboards. They moved then stopped.

The woman whistled. 'Some way of saving her, Phelonas.'

In the shadows, Inyre stiffened. Phelonas! He remembered that name. Tobias had once let it slip, after helping himself to some communion wine during one of his slimy visits. Phelonas had been the name of the monster in the basement. Phelonas had been the one responsible for what Inyre had witnessed down there…

The priest clawed his hands against the wall, trying to fight off the incipient flashback. His breathing was ragged. With some effort, he forced himself to calm.

'Leora,' Phelonas said abruptly, 'would you kindly close the curtains? I can only handle so many minds at once. It would be best if there was no risk of being seen.'

The woman – Leora? – chuckled. 'You do look kind of memorable.' Her feet sounded on the floor as she walked over. There was a rustle of fabric as she grabbed a curtain. Inyre stood, pressed up against the wall, watching the rectangle of light by his side. Suddenly it was cut in half. A moment later, the other curtain was drawn.

It was much darker on the balcony.

'There,' the woman said. 'Happy?' Inyre heard her walk back over.

He felt a sudden curiosity grab him. He had to _know_…

As quiet as he could, Inyre edged over to the window. There was a narrow gap between the curtains. He peered through, blinking in the light. He saw two shapes by the bed.

He almost yelped in horror.

There was a woman, dressed in a doctor's green robe, dark in the half-light, belted with the red sash fashionable amongst Octalian medicae. She had a bag of equipment slung over one shoulder and she was holding a medical scanner in one hand, running it over Janessa's prone form. This must be Leora. She had her back turned to the window.

It wasn't her figure that startled Inyre. No, it was the monster beside her. He stood two feet higher – and that was before factoring in the vicious horns that rose over his head, a mocking inverted halo. They had only inches' clearance from the ceiling. In a freakish flash of clarity, Inyre supposed Phelonas must have ducked on the way into the room.

The horns rose from a helmet – Phelonas was well-armoured. But his true nature was undeniable. Power armour was unmistakeable. On Octalis, seeing a Space Marine was an imaginable occurrence – but seeing one whose suit was decorated with spikes and evil runes wasn't. On Jenneko, Inyre had seen Chaos Marines up close – too close. Unlike many, he had somehow survived that horrific campaign. His physical wounds had healed but the mental scars would never fade. He remembered too many of the horrors he had witnessed.

He began to shake. Phelonas was unmistakeably a Chaos Space Marine. On one of his shoulder-pads was the eight-pointed star, marked in silver. It shone in the weak light. Inyre wished he didn't know that symbol, wished he'd never seen it. But he couldn't close his eyes. Tobias's ally was a servant of the Great Enemy. Tobias, Inyre realised with sick horror, was not only a fraud but also a traitor. In fact, maybe he never had been that shallow – maybe it had all been a pose, to lead Inyre and the Church astray!

'What a charming place this is,' he heard the monster remark. 'This building looks like it needs demolishing. Unless it comes down on its own first.'

Phelonas had his back turned to the window. Inyre was looking at his backpack. The exhaust vents rising from it had been sculpted into leering fanged skulls, mouths agape in lifeless rage. Blasphemous runes were inscribed in silver along the edges of the plates. The silver glimmered in the dimness. Inyre could just see a long scabbard at the marine's waist. The hilt and pommel of a longsword rose from it. The pommel was carved into a leering demon's head. Its eyes glowed with a red light – they looked _alive_. Inyre shuddered.

'That's probably why the Originists have it,' the woman - Leora - said. 'Cheap real estate for cheap people.'

Inyre tried to identify the monster. Unfortunately, Phelonas was stood against the light. His head turned – one of the horns occluded the bulb, throwing a shadow through the curtains. Inyre blinked. Phelonas's figure was picked out in a dark silhouette. Inyre tried to pick out the colours of his armour. Was that a suggestion of blue? In the bad light, it was hard to tell.

Inyre realised he had seen enough. He backed away from the gap, toward the table. He slipped into the deep shadow behind it, crouching down and hugging himself.

The rain hissed down around him. He was grateful for its presence.

'Well, Phelonas?' the woman-heretic Leora asked. 'Are you okay?'

'One moment.' There was a faint scraping noise and a hiss, then the Chaos Marine spoke again. This time his voice sounded different – Inyre realised he'd removed his helmet. 'I smell something. Kill the light.'

There was an overspill of light leaking through the curtains, onto the balustrade in front of Inyre. It suddenly winked out, throwing the balcony into darkness. Inyre swallowed.

He heard footsteps. They were quiet but they carried a sense of power. He heard the curtain stir. He heard a voice, very nearby. 'Hmm. No, can't smell anything here.' The curtain rustled again. Feet padded back across the floor.

'Can I put the light on again?'

'Yes. No-one saw me.'

The balustrade was lit again.

'So what was all that about?' the woman-heretic asked.

'I thought I smelt an intruder.' There was a scraping noise again and Phelonas's voice changed. The helmet was presumably back on. 'It seemed familiar – reminded me of something from that church. There was one day when I thought I might have had a visitor. Just a faint human-scent in the crypt. But there were no prints outside. This smell was similar. But there was no-one on the balcony. Or in the garden.'

'The rain?' the woman suggested. 'That might remove scent.'

There was a hesitation. Then: 'No, I think not. This is a busy building – probably just some dumb servant who went to the window sometime.'

'Do you … sense anything?'

A pause, then: 'Yes, far too much. This building is full of humans. All blaring out their pointless little feelings – as if anyone cared. It's too noisy. It's like looking for a candle next to a searchlight. I can pick you out, because you're next to me – but outside this room? No.'

Inyre breathed again. Apparently he was undetected. He realised he might yet live.

'Well I'm glad that's straightened up. I am amazed you manage to keep out of sight. As I said, you do look pretty … striking, I suppose.' There was an undertone of fear in the woman's voice.

'Horrifying, you mean?' Phelonas sounded amused. 'Fear-inducing? All of your theistic nightmares, walking around on two legs?'

'Something like that,' the woman agreed weakly. 'Except not _my_ theistic nightmares, thank you very much. I'll remind you – my fears are the secular sort.'

'Concealing myself here is trivial. The Originists – well, they prey on the society's margins. The weak-minded, the badly-educated, the self-deluded – they're the contents of this house. They're all so blinded by their faith – it rots their minds. They're consumed by one issue – Emperor-bothering. There are no competing thought-threads, no sudden insights, no changes of track. Faith – it makes them easy to manipulate. They see what I want them to. I walk unobserved.'

'So faith can actually be a weakness?' the woman mused. 'Interesting. Useful trick, that. So that's what you were doing downstairs?'

He'd been _downstairs_? Inyre shivered. He must have – he could have walked _right past_ the monster! No, he suddenly realised, obviously he hadn't. He was still alive. Phelonas seemed to know his scent. If his path had crossed the monster's, he'd already be dead. Inyre started shaking again. He felt a nauseous fear churn in his stomach. He had probably walked right past whatever room the beast had been in. The thickness of a wall – that had been the separation between life and death!

'I was waiting for you. To attend to the Hierarch. I need her alive.'

'Yes. And she's in a bad way. Please – what happened? If I'm to treat her, I need to know.'

'I made a mistake,' Phelonas admitted. 'I got her out of prison but I forgot something. In hindsight it's blindingly obvious but it slipped my mind then.'

'And what was this?'

'I used a power to get out. A magic, if you like. It lets me travel through solid matter. Useful, if you're careful. Unfortunately it harmed the Hierarch.'

'So, how…?'

'That's how I got her through the prison walls. It makes your body subtle – matter doesn't impede you. Problem is, the air we breathe is made out of matter too.'

'Oh. I have a feeling I know where this is going.'

'Yes. Your body can't feel air pressure if it doesn't interact with matter.'

'Explosive decompression.'

'Not once but twice. I don't normally consider it.' Inyre heard a fist rap on something solid, twice. 'Power armour. I don't need to think about things like that. It slipped my mind.'

'So she's been decompressed.'

'As I said - twice.'

'Twice? Good God.'

'No!' Phelonas rasped. 'That so-called god is nothing of the sort. Just a grasping, maniacal tyrant! He was a monster! You should be grateful we threw him down!'

There was a hesitation. Then, in a careful tone of voice, Leora said, 'Calm down. It was just a figure of speech. I meant – oh, to skak with what I meant!' There was a metallic clink. A device hummed. 'Back on track. Let's have a look at the victim here. Hmm. Scan shows deep capillary damage – ruptures all over the place. That explains the bruising. There's damage in the lungs – torn alveoli, burst blood vessels. She's got fluid building up. I don't think she's getting enough oxygen – maybe that's why she's still unconscious. Her nasal passages are a mess. And she's going to be deaf in one ear – a ruptured drum. The good news is, I think the eye-damage is cosmetic only. But that's the only good news.'

'Can you repair her?'

'Maybe.' Leora paused. 'It's going to take a while, though. Two rounds of explosive decompression. How long for?'

'In total? Less than fifty seconds, I should think.'

'Almost a minute? Skak. She's probably had as much as her body can stand. We're going to have to treat her carefully.' There was a hiss of a pressure-needle. 'There. That should ease the respiratory distress. Hopefully take the inflammation down, too. I don't want her under any more pressure. Frankly, she needs to be in a hospital.'

'How soon can she be fixed?'

'Fixed?' There was an incredulous laugh. 'Phelonas, she's a person – not a machine. You don't "fix" people, you have to wait for them to get better.'

'I need her alive.' There was an edge of menace in Phelonas's voice.

'Well you're going to have to wait. Nature takes it's time. Unless you know any healing-spells, of course?'

'Do I look like a healer?'

'No, you look like a walking pin-cushion.' Leora sounded irritated. Presumably her fear had plateaued. 'All those spikes. Not compensating for anything, are we?'

To Inyre's disbelief, the monster laughed. Laughter! It was harsh and sounded jagged, but it was laughter nonetheless. 'I can't "compensate" for what I don't have any more, can I? Something else to thank your Emperor for.'

'So was that the real reason for the Heresy?' The woman sounded sarcastic.

There was a sudden, dangerous silence. Moments passed. Inyre heard floorboards creak as someone shifted awkwardly.

'Phelonas, I, uh-' Leora sounded scared again.

She was cut off before she could finish. 'Medicae-Doctor Leora Konstantin.' Phelonas's voice was cold. It bubbled with rage. He sounded like he was about to erupt. 'One of the reasons I tolerate your presence is that you're not totally intimidated by me. A human who isn't either a gibbering fear-filled wreck or a favour-currying piece of sycophantic cultist scum can be useful.' He paused. 'However, I have limits. Sometimes I think you overstep them. Thus far, you have been extremely useful to me. Hence your continued life. But if you continue to push me – well, I may just do something that you will regret. Briefly.'

There was another pause. 'And I suppose I don't get my revenge then, do I?'

'No.' The rage was still there. However, it seemed Phelonas had reasserted some self-control. His voice was calmer, more clinical. 'No you wouldn't. You wouldn't get your vengeance on those who murdered your son. So I would suggest – politely – that courtesy is in your best interests. The Heresy, as you so blithely called it, is no matter for mockery. It was the day when the slaves finally saw their chains, and lashed out at Terra's foul master. That jumped-up warlord you call the Emperor.'

'I'd remind you that I don't. To me, he's a rotting corpse in a gilded mortuary refrigerator.'

Inyre choked at that heresy.

That horrible, hacking sound started again. Phelonas was laughing. After a few moments of bitter hysteria, he seemed to reassert some control. 'Yes. Your atheism, Dr Leora, is one of your most attractive features. You are that rare thing in this tired age – a person who isn't entirely stupid.'

There was another hypospray hiss. 'Talking of stupid people, Phelonas, this woman needs to be in a hospital.'

'Well arrange it, then!'

Leora sighed. 'It's not that simple. She'll have to be checked in under a false name. That needs paperwork. ID cards, documents, forms, past addresses – and a medical history! This is going to take serious money and serious bribery.'

'Can you do it?'

'Maybe.'

'What do you mean, maybe?'

'Phelonas, I'm a junior medicae. I'm known for my odd views at work. That's why I'm still a junior medicae – and that's just on what they know!'

'They obviously don't know the full truth. You're alive.'

'Yes. That's my point. Look, putting this woman in hospital's a big job. Lots of places it can go wrong. If I get myself linked to Originism-'

'You are linked to Originism.'

'Yes, but only to get my revenge! I'm only with these people to hurt the skakking Ravens. I don't like these people. I think they're dumb scum.'

Phelonas laughed – again. Inyre shuddered with revulsion.

'Look,' Leora said, 'I'm only in it for myself. You know that. I'm only here because I thought it might help my plans. I want my revenge. I won't get it sat in a prison cell.'

'So you'd defy the might of Chaos, would you?'

'I couldn't care less about the might of Chaos. You can put your Chaos up your anus. And take your hand off that silly sword – unless you have another bad doctor stashed somewhere?'

Inyre boggled. The woman had just challenged a Chaos Marine! In spite of himself, he felt a spark of admiration. Whatever else she might be, however black her numerous heresies, he realised that no-one could call Leora a coward.

Phelonas was silent for a while. Finally, he spoke. 'Checkmate. Well done, doctor. You win this round. It seems we have an impasse. But can you really do nothing? I assure you, I can reward you.'

'This woman. What do you actually need her for? She doesn't look like your type.'

'My type!'

'She's an Originist nutbar. You're a traitor. I honestly can't see what else you'd want with her. Except her – you know.'

Phelonas made a choking noise. 'I'm no Emperor's Child. I have no such urges, I assure you. I am distrustful of the blessings of Slaanesh. And anyway – I believe this is territory we've already covered.'

Leora laughed. 'You're easy to wind up. No, but I was making a serious point. Why do you care if she lives or dies?'

'She has a hold on the Originists. She's high up in their church – on the ruling council. They'll follow her – blindly. She can lead them anywhere. Even to the gates of the Ravenholme.'

'Okay, that's … interesting. But getting her into a ward's a huge job. My savings aren't bottomless. The bribes'll get through a lot of them. Damn it, I need more!'

'You want my plan, don't you.'

'I want your plan. Yes.'

'Is that any business of yours? The more that know it, the more likely exposure is.'

'Phelonas. I'm an atheist. Just talking to you makes me a traitor. I'm in no position to go running to the authorities. But I can help you. But I won't work on blind faith. Money, effort, time – yeah, these things _can_ be arranged. But I need to know. I need to know this is going somewhere. How does this bring me closer to what I want?'

'Your revenge, you mean?'

'Yes. How does this hurt those monsters? How does this do to them what they did to my son?'

'It's a step on the way,' Phelonas said with reluctance. 'The Originists – they're a tool. These sorts of cults, whether supposedly-loyal or openly-traitorous – they're tools I can use. This world is a lie. So is the Imperium. Breaking this world is a step toward breaking the latter.'

'You're evading. If you want my help, be specific.'

'Very well. The Originists have been storing up guns. Bolt pistols, bolters, things like that. They had a plan for revolution. It all fell apart – an agent of mine did something stupid. A fool called Tobias.'

'Are all your agents fools?'

'This one met his end. Incompetence is its own reward.' So Tobias was dead? Interesting. 'Anyway, he brought the wrath of the Ravens down on the Church. Luckily, there were some contingency plans. The arms dumps were hidden. The Arbites carted off people by the truckload – but no guns. I cursed it at the time, but in hindsight it may be a blessing. The surviving Originists are more focused. They feel like they have a legitimate grievance now.'

'The Imperium. It's wonderfully self-defeating, isn't it?'

'Yes. The purge has already backfired. When I realised that, how I laughed! The logic of oppression is no logic at all.'

'So … this woman leads them on a mad charge against the Ravenholme. Aren't they just going to get slaughtered?'

'My plan is more subtle than that. A lot of Originists will die –'

'Good.'

'- maybe even most. But they will also kill Ravens.'

'Okay. This I'm liking, But we're still not there. _How_ will they kill Ravens? What's the strategy? The Ravenholme is the best-defended place on the planet. And it's full of Space Marines.'

'No. It isn't. At the moment it's nearly empty. Their forces are stretched thin – too many commitments. They've sent an enormous force to the Riothrian System, to fight the Tyranids. Only they've picked a losing battle. Minoris is indefensible.'

'Really? The news is always glowing.'

'Well of course it is! It's censored, you silly woman! If the reporters spoke the truth they'd be shot! No, Minoris is already a dead loss. The terrain isn't helping. The space defenses won't hold the Tyranids up much – the Governor's been skimming off the funds for years. Its PDF are under-equipped and barely-trained. The local Guard is worthless. The local nobility think they have a monopoly on rank. Any ordinary soldiers get uppity, they get executed. So morale is rock-bottom and the competent selected against. It's like backwards evolution, breeding for less ability and less skill. The only way to survive is to be unthreatening to the people in power. Only now the Tyranids have come to eat their world… As I said, incompetence is its own reward.'

'So you're saying the Ravens are bogged down?'

'More than that. They're losing. Oh, no doubt they keep throwing their lives away in brainwashed style – but there just aren't enough Space Marines on the planet. Even superhumans can't be in two places at once. They should have just abandoned Minoris and used it as a firebreak. Majoris is more important and more defensible. Let the Nids swarm over its neighbour-planet – then nuke it down to the bedrock. Destroy a chunk of their army and deny them biomass for reinforcements. That's how I'd do it. Instead they've chosen the path of futile heroism.'

'How does this figure into your plan?'

'The Ravens now have only one company left to guard the fortress. Twenty or thirty thousand moron-fanatics versus a hundred Ravens … it'll be bloody, but it's workable. But timing is the key.'

'Why?'

'We need to seize the Ravenholme. The Ravens will be rotating their forces soon. Once we have the Ravenholme under our control, its guns can be turned on their ships. Imagine their surprise – their Thunderhawks get met with missiles on the way down!'

'That's two companies destroyed,' noted Leora.

'Yes.' Phelonas was gloating. 'The rest will realise what's happening. They rush in and go to war with the Originists. With all those stockpiled guns and the Ravenholmes' batteries – think of the bloodshed! It'll provoke an all-out war between the Originists and the Ravens. Maybe a full civil war on Octalis. It'll destabilise this sector. It'll take a Chapter out of circulation. It'll strike an enormous blow against the Imperium. This is my best scheme in centuries!'

'The Inquisition might get involved. Particularly if any rumours of Chaos escape.'

'Good. That's even better.'

'How is that better?'

'There could be an Exterminatus,' Phelonas gloated.

'How is that good?'

'When the skies light up with atomic fire – I just stretch out my arms and say a little ritual. Dedicate the violence to the Dark Gods. Four billion souls, thrown into the Warp – an enormous human sacrifice. A Chapter destroyed as well. The power I'll receive for that…'

'You might be dead.'

'No I won't. I'll just be elsewhere when it happens.'

'So my revenge is secondary. This is really just about mass murder.'

'Your revenge is secondary to me, yes. But that doesn't mean it's unimportant.'

'Murder, though. I don't know.'

'Don't go soft now. You were all for it when it was Marines.'

'Yes but that's different. I'm not so sure how I feel about killing _people_.'

'So Marines don't count, you think?'

'No offense – but no, not really. Brainwashed, propagandised, inhuman…'

'You almost sound like an Originist.'

'Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.'

'Harsh,' Phelonas remarked. His voice was dangerous. 'So I don't count as a person, do I? I beg to differ.'

Leora's voice wobbled. She sounded as if she suspected she might have gone too far, revealed just a bit too much. 'I'm not being funny – but do you really expect me to care for you?'

'Well what's so great about human beings? The sort who just stand by and let the Imperium have its way with them? The ignorant fools who flock to churches?'

'They probably don't realise they're being fools.'

'Their 'god' denied his own divinity. Theocracy was too much even for that megalomaniac! And yet as soon as he was safely out of the way, what do they do? Stick him on a holy plinth! It's unbelievable. These are the children of Terra – the people who terraformed Mars. The people who took on a galaxy – and won. And yet you've reduced yourselves to this … this pathetic, inbred, moribund wreck!'

'Your point being?'

'Don't mourn for human lives. They have no meaning. Humanity has exhausted its creativity. The species has done nothing new in ten thousand years. There are no ideas. Even the _idea_ of innovation is an anathema. It's dreadful. Humanity's one redeeming feature – its ability to know and to reason – and modern people call it heretical and unholy!

'No, the Imperium is a sea of lies.' Phelonas was ranting now. 'Look at this planet. It fancies itself as free and enlightened – and its voting system is rigged to protect the oligarchy. If you play the Ravens' little game, they throw you a bone. You get a weighted ballot. But what point is that? How does running an assault course demonstrate political skill? How does climbing a wall in under a minute show sound economic judgement? It doesn't. It's a joke – worse, it's absurd. And yet there's no resistance. No-one argues, no-one makes any fuss. It's like the people out there are all just shadows. Brain-dead zombies, drifting through the motions of living. And then look at this recent business with these very Originists. Even the small amount of liberty people may enjoy can be abrogated at will – if the powers-that-be feel their religion is threatened. The same religion that's based on a lie! And the mad thing is, compared to the rest of the Imperium, this planet _is_ free and liberal!

'No, I say to hell with it. Ten millennia of lies is enough. If they won't face the truth then they'll be made to. The Imperial Cult is a foul deception. Chaos isn't going to go away. If Humanity wishes to live, it needs to make an accommodation.'

'And if it doesn't?'

'Then it deserves its death. Maybe that's what it wants. Maybe that's why there's so little resistance. Maybe Humanity itself is trying to die. Ever thought of that? And you know what – maybe it sees more clearly. If it wants death, why deny it? If it wants to end its suffering – let it!'

Leora was silent for a while. Finally, she spoke. 'You think this Janessa will follow you?'

'She's a deluded Imperialist. They're good at lying to themselves. I'll offer my advice - from the shadows. I'll make a _fait accompli_ of it. She won't know for a fact what I am. She'll find a way to sell it to herself. The Imperials are the past masters of lying – even to themselves.'

Leora was silent for a long time. Finally, she said, 'Okay. It's not going to be easy – but I can get her into hospital. It'll take a few days. In the meantime, she needs some more treatment. I'm going to give her some antibiotics. I'm worried about that lung-damage. The last thing she needs is an infection in there…'

Father Inyre listened for a little longer. Once he was sure they had left the room, he shakily grabbed a drainpipe next to the balcony. He barely made it down to the ground, shaken up as he was.

He slipped away into the rainy night.


	29. Chapter 29 Visitors

'GET DOWN, DAMN YOU!'

Instinctively, Alaster threw himself to the floor. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a puddle. Then he hit. Mud sprayed up around him. Moments later, the trench rocked. A deafening roar rumbled above. Bits of dirt splattered down.

Alaster risked a look up. Smoke was drifting overhead but the breastworks along the parapet had held. The bioplasma bolt hadn't breached the defences.

'Okay, you can get up again,' Kodos said irritably. 'Skakking fire-bugs.'

Alaster scrambled back to his feet. His hands were still clamped firmly around the bolter. He respectfully scratched some mud off the muzzle of the gun. It was definitely 'the' gun, not his. His chainsword was over one shoulder, in its scabbard strapped securely behind his backpack. His bolt pistol was at his waist but in his holster. Alaster checked the bolter over one more time. This was the first time he'd carried an actual bolter in combat.

He checked on his team-mates. Nasty was on his left. He was covered in mud all down his front. His chest-eagle was invisible under the coating. He was holding his gun in one hand and wiping off his eyelenses with the other. 'Yuck,' Nasty said. 'This trench is filthy!'

Alaster looked to his right. Patreus had managed to land on dry ground. He was the cleanest of three. There was only dry dirt on his breastplate. 'You okay?' Alaster asked.

Patreus twitched, surprised. 'Me? Uh, yeah, Brother, I'm fine.'

'You're not asking me how I am,' Nasty groused.

'You're complaining,' Alaster remarked. 'You're obviously fine.'

Somewhere a whistle blew. There was a scramble of motion as the Minorian PDF troops in the trench moved back to their firing positions. There was a ledge a few feet below the top of the trench. The soldiers clambered onto it, kneeling behind the breastworks, pointing their rifles out through the firing slots in the heaped sandbags. The troops moved with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some were quick and focused but they were a minority. Alaster couldn't help but notice that morale was low.

'Back to your places, lads,' Kodos spoke into their earphones. 'Don't want to get shown up by this lot!'

'Fat chance of that,' Nasty muttered. Privately Alaster had to agree. Nonetheless the Storm Ravens moved back into their places. Alaster positioned his bolter looking out through the firing-slot. Beyond he could see the wasted landscape of the battlefield below.

The trenches were near the top of a long line of rolling hills. In happier times, the land beyond had been a collection of farming villages. Now it was a churned mass of mud and craters. Here and there a few trees still thrust up, stripped of all foliage by the incessant gunfire. They were like spears, dead trunks pointing skyward at crazy angles. Of the nearest village, only a few tumbled walls and a smoking, roofless barn still stood. The houses had been reduced to scattered rubble, all but lost amongst the chaos of the battlefield. Somewhere out there was the Nid line – if the bugs could be described as having a front line, of course. Between the breastworks and the first wall of the ruined village was the killzone.

'There's another one,' Eorvan's voice said. 'Bottom of the hill. Moving fast.'

Alaster looked. Sure enough, the Brother-Corporal was right. There was another wave of bugs, sweeping out of the rumpled terrain ahead of them. Alaster glanced down at the land in front of them. The hillside was marred with craters and circular puddles. Broken bits of Nid were strewn everywhere. The waves were incessant. The Ravens and their tired allies were just sat behind this wall, cutting down anything that the artillery didn't crush. It seemed like a waste to Alaster – he and his brothers should be out there, re-taking the land that these xenos had so wrongfully claimed. That said, he could understand the strategic reasoning. The land in front of them was just farmland, already rendered largely useless by the deterioration in the planet's climate. The harvest had failed this year – in this district, torrential rain and low temperatures had killed the crops and then turned the land into a freezing bog. Apparently the farmers had fled to the perceived safety of the cities. Alaster didn't consider that the best of decisions. All they would have found there was rationing and power shortages. The bugs had swept in quickly after them, occupying the vacant fields.

Alaster looked at the wrecked landscape. Overhead the sky boiled with cloud. The colours were various shades of grey and neither sun was visible, although there was a brighter patch in their general direction. In the distance he saw what might be a spore tower, catching one of the few rays of sunlight to break through. It reminded him of the filthy things that had been around the hive centre. His lip curled.

He glanced downhill. The Nid advance was clear now, a moving line of white and purple against the muddy brown-beige hillside. They were mainly Gaunts, Alaster noted. A few small clusters of Rippers too, but no really big xenos. It looked like this was just another test of their defences.

Sounds caught his ear. People talking, voices anxious. He could hear it along the trenches, sudden yelling and barked orders. Another whistle blew, twice in succession.

'Oh well done,' Nasty muttered. 'Looks like the PDF've spotted them too.'

'About time,' Sandrer put in cynically.

From behind them, Alaster heard a sharp boom. It was followed in quick succession by several more. The artillery was beginning its bombardment. He watched as the shells arced overhead. They plunged in amongst the advancing Nids. Plumes of soil fountained up into the air. Nid bodies were flung up, twisted and torn out of shape. Alaster watched the shelling with satisfaction. It was good to see the PDF at least get this much right.

The Gaunt swarm was dense. The shelling was taking a heavy toll – but the xenos flowed on like an organic carpet. Even as more plumes erupted from the soil, they swept across the land like a parody of natural life.

'Here they come,' Kodos said. 'Remember, Brothers, the promethium mines are behind our backs. This isn't how we usually fight – but that doesn't give us an excuse to skak up. Get your bolters ready. Suppressing fire – on my mark.'

Alaster lined the bolter up. He checked his grip and rested a finger on the trigger. He double-checked his sighting. He had a clear line on the approaching aliens.

He risked a glance out along the lines. The nearest PDF trooper looked terrified. He was a short, freckled teenager. He couldn't have been more then sixteen. Alaster realised he was probably older than this kid. Just how long, he wondered suddenly, had it been since that day in the gym on Delta? He realised he wasn't completely sure.

He looked back. The Nids were closing – they were under the artillery range. Alaster could hear them now, the clack-clack of claws and that obnoxious chittering they insisted on. His finger tightened on the trigger. Still, there was a few seconds yet before they'd be comfortably inside bolter range.

'Emperor preserve us,' Alaster heard the kid-trooper whisper. Poor kid. He looked close to tears. That said, so did a lot of older PDF conscripts. This lot's morale was somewhere down with the puddles in the trench. Theoretically, the brothers were here to 'support' the PDF. Alaster suspected the real reason was the PDF troops wouldn't risk deserting in front of Space Marines. He kept half-expecting to briefly turn his back and find the trenches empty.

He looked back at the approaching wave of Nids, hands on his bolter. Targeting graphics swam over the running aliens. Alaster felt calm, even slightly anticipating the coming fight. Another chance to get even with the aliens… He was a Space Marine. This was what they were good at.

He slid the safety back on his bolter. It slipped into place with a metallic _snick_.

'One,' Kodos said. 'Two. Three. MARK!'

Alaster's bolter jerked in his hands. Ichor plumed from the nearest Gaunt's back. It tumbled to the ground. Alaster shot the one next to it. Its head was blown off. Its stumbling body tripped up two more.

Beside him, Nasty pumped a string of bolts into a mass of Gaunts. Broken limbs and chitin fragments flew through the air. Patreus's bolter barked twice in close succession. Two Gaunts were ripped apart.

'Keep going,' Kodos ordered.

Alaster shot another one.

Finally he heard the quiet crackle of lasguns. He saw some more Gaunts taken down. The PDF were firing – at last! He wondered what had taken so long. Surely there'd been time even for a normal human to line up a shot? He heard cries and shouts from the other troops, officers bellowing orders. As he shot another Gaunt, Alaster resisted the urge to shake his head. There was a joke circling amongst the Ravens; 'Minorian soldiers.' It was a bit harsh but at moments like this, Alaster had to sympathise with the sentiment.

His bolter roared. It jerked back in his hands. Another Nid exploded. The shot had ripped right through its chest. The Storm Ravens had a simple principle for bolter-fire – one shot, one kill. Alaster was determined to follow it to the letter.

The Nids were closing. He decapitated one more. The swarm was appreciably thinning – at least near the Ravens' position. Alaster wasn't so sure how it looked further down the line.

There was a _crackle-hiss_. A glaring blue-white flash leapt from Kodos's plasma pistol. It hit the ground ten metres away. A puddle was vapourised. The explosion hurled Gaunts and Rippers into the air. Their exposed underbellies were scorched by the steam. They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Some of them were still alive. They lay there, keening piteously.

Alaster watched in revulsion as another Ripper swarm flowed over the wounded Nids. They were _eating_ their own side! Disgusting!

It seemed the sergeant agreed. 'These things are foul,' Kodos muttered.

He was answered with the roar of bolter-fire. More Nids were torn down.

'The fire-bugs!' It was Patreus. 'They're doing something – below!'

Fire-bug was the code-name for whatever horror it was that kept firing the occasional bio-plasma bolt. It seemed to be the Tyranids' answer to the PDF artillery. It hadn't been a particularly effective answer – the shots were powerful but infrequent. The gaps between them had been as much as fifteen minutes. It seemed there weren't many fire-bugs down there.

'Where?' Kodos asked.

'The red barn. Eight o'clock.'

The red barn was one of the few splashes of colour in the bleached-beige landscape. It was built out of a rich red brick, sat on a hilltop a couple of clicks away. It stood out against the greyish sky. Alaster glanced up from shooting Nids, for just an instant. Yes – there was a faint glow behind the buildings!

Something chattered. He looked back. A Gaunt was almost at the breastworks! Alaster pumped a bolt into its leering alien face. It was flipped backwards. It splashed into a puddle. Its somersault ended lifelessly in the mud.

'It's firing!' Kodos said. 'Get ready to duck, lads!'

There was a flash of greenish light near the barn. Alaster looked up. A green blob leapt out over the wasteland beyond. It was getting wider-

'Skak!' Fegust said. 'It's heading right for us!'

Alaster began to crouch-

Green light blossomed over the sandbags. A pressure wave slammed into him. Alaster felt himself flipped head over heels. A tsunami of sound roared around him. Desperately he clung onto the bolter. He brought his legs up, trying to curl up into a ball.

The world spun around him.

Pain flared across his back. He'd hit something. Alaster felt himself rebound off it. He caught a flash of grey-brown. There was a splash. He felt an impact on his side.

Alaster rolled to his feet, bringing the bolter up. He was in the trench. He'd landed in a puddle. Mud had sprayed everywhere. Overhead was a gaping hole in the sandbags. Smoke billowed from beyond. Something was burning.

He looked around. There was Nasty – and Patreus. They were both covered in dirt too. Alaster noted the irony – the marines were well-camouflaged now!

'On your feet, Brothers!' Kodos's voice ordered. 'Secure the parapet!'

Alaster's head whipped round, to the gaping wound in the defences. A shape sprang through. Taloned arms outstretched, a Termagaunt leapt right at him!

There was almost no time. Alaster jerked the bolter up. He fired. A hole was torn in the monster's chest. He fired again. A gouge was carved in its throat. The creature spasmed, mid-flight.

Its corpse slammed into him,

Alaster was knocked down. Marine and corpse sprawled in the mud. He had to waste a precious moment hurling the monster away. Another beast sprung in through the breach above. Alaster had no time even to fire. Instead he smacked the creature with his gun. Then he followed it with a kick to the thorax. The chest caved in with a spray of alien blood.

More Gaunts were pouring in. The trench decayed into a close-quarters fight. It was a tough environment for combat. There was no cover and limited room to manoeuvre. The fighting was up close and personal. Alaster found himself killing as many aliens by hand as with the gun. Finally he gave in to the inevitable and drew his chainsword.

The growl of its blade joined the roar of bolters. He slashed, he hacked and he chopped. He parried a limb and drove the blade into an eye. He tore it out with a spray of ichor. Another Tyranid flopped lifeless to the ground.

The trench was running with alien blood. Carapaces and corpses crunched under foot. Alaster beheaded another Termagaunt, then turned and stomped on a Ripper. He filleted one more with his blade.

To his right, Nasty shot another creature as it sprang into the trench. Then something reared behind him. 'Nasty!' Alaster shouted. 'Behind you!'

The other Storm Raven turned. He threw himself at the alien, tackling it to the ground. Once he had it pinned, Nasty delivered a vicious elbow-jab to its throat. Alaster heard the chitin crack. Satisfied that his brother had that situation under control, he returned to his own fighting.

Ten more Gaunts and six Rippers later, the flow abruptly staunched. Alaster stood there for a moment, chainsword gripped in front of him. Where were the aliens? He looked around, seeing only Space Marines and broken xeno corpses.

'Okay,' Kodos said, 'it's gone quiet. Get back up to the parapet and get the sandbags back in place, Brothers.'

The marines moved quickly. Up at the parapet, Alaster risked a look around. The plasma bolt had hit just below the sandbag-wall. Some of the force had gone into the ground. That was why he was still alive. The bolt was the kind of thing that took on tanks – tough as his power armour was, Alaster had no illusions about it standing up to a direct hit from that. Beyond the wrecked wall was a crater. Wisps of steam rose from its still-hot bottom.

Alaster looked around. Of the nearby PDF troops, he couldn't see any. No, wait – there was the fifteen-year-old's body. His face had been shielded from the heat of the blast but the rest of him had been roasted. He was quite dead – boiled from the inside, by the looks of it. His remains lay sprawled beyond the opposite rim of the trench. Of the other troopers, Alaster couldn't see any intact remains.

He glanced down. His breastplate was scuffed and dirty. The paint had been scratched by the blast – long radial streaks of dull ceramite poked through. Alaster felt a surge of irritation – fixing that would be a pain.

With the other marines he set to gathering up the remaining sandbags. They got the basic frame of the wall back up in a couple of minutes. There was a store-alcove a short distance down the trench. They fetched a load of fresh sandbags from there. Moments later the parapet was restored, not too much the worse for wear.

'Right,' Kodos said, 'back to waiting.'

Nasty was looking around. 'We're going to need some new PDF,' he remarked.

'Did we keep the receipt on this lot?' Sandrer asked. He held up a mangled hand, sans the rest of its former owner. 'Dunno if there's enough to take back to the store.'

It was a cruel joke. It was vicious, uncalled-for, downright rude – and funny. Alaster found himself chuckling. Trench-fighting, waiting out wave after wave of attacks – it was a tense business. Sick as it was, the humour had its place. You had to do something to break the gloom.

'Reinforcements are coming,' Kodos reported a moment later. 'Apparently we've not run out of PDF yet.'

Alaster peered out toward the red barn. Could he see any movement there? He held the bolter, feeling awkward. Now if they just had their jump packs, they could spring out over there, take the fire-bugs out. It wouldn't take long – minutes at most! He wondered again at the planning of this defence. It was frustrating – the marines just weren't being used to their full capacity.

'Wait,' Kodos said suddenly. He paused. 'That can't be right – no, sir, I'm not questioning your orders. Are you sure?' Then, to someone else, he said, 'Well if you insist. Heard and obeyed.'

'What was that about, Sergeant?' Nasty asked.

Kodos's helmet turned to look at him. The skull on the brow glinted in the watery light. 'We're being pulled out,' he said. 'Re-deployment.'

*

Kodos was sat in the Thunderhawk cockpit, helmet in his lap. He was strapped into a spare pilot's seat. He adjusted the microphone of the vox headset he was wearing. The rumble of takeoff was fading as they rose into the sky. Kodos was paid no attention by the Chapter serf pilots as they carried out their duties. Kodos sniffed the air. There was an undertone of sweat in it. He wrinkled his nose. It seemed the air filters needed changing.

The light changed. The Thunderhawk had broken through the cloud layer. Wonderful blue sky surrounded them and clear double-sunlight streamed in through the canopy. Kodos unconsciously relaxed – what a difference a ray of sunshine made!

'With respect, Brother-Captain,' he said into the microphone, 'what exactly is this about?'

His words were bounced through the comm system and relayed out to one of the surviving satellites. From there they were beamed round to Lakon's location. Moments later, the company commander's voice came back, carried by the same route. This time his voice was clear and steady – the satellite offered crystal clarity, not the crackling interference found in battlefield communications.

'Something more important, Sergeant,' Lakon replied. 'Babysitting the Minors isn't really a job for Astartes.' The Minors was the current slang for the Minorian forces. Command had half-heartedly tried to discourage its use, but had given up after a while. Even Lakon had taken to it. 'The locals should stand on their own two feet for a change.'

'They should but they can't,' Kodos said bluntly. 'We were the only thing preventing that lot from mass desertion. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them have buggered off already.'

'Some loss if they do,' Lakon said with a hint of world-weariness. 'No, we're rotating you. A detachment from the Doom Eagles will be overseeing the trenches now. You've spent an entire month on the front, post-hive centre. You probably haven't slept in weeks. You need to do something else for a while. Something with a lower tempo.'

'Like what?' Kodos asked. 'Don't get me wrong – I'm sure my squad of slackers would love a holiday. But if we're going to be here, we need to be doing something useful.'

'Sarcastic as usual,' Lakon observed. 'Well, Sergeant, you're not going to be disappointed. Did you notice how few plasma-monsters there were at the mine?'

'Yes,' Kodos said. 'Couldn't have been more than one or two in the valley below.'

'That's because there weren't. We just got the new intel footage from the satellites-'

'Why's that taken so long?'

'Network problems. The Tyranid fleet's doing real damage up there. They've knocked out half the relays. The Tech-Priests've been muttering about appeasing the cogitator-spirits. Actually, I get the impression they didn't have a clue what to do. Anyway, they've cobbled something together, so we're getting images again, but the downloads are running slow. And behind schedule.'

'Great. So what do these new images show?'

'A few days ago, the bugs moved a load of their bio-artillery to a ridge forty miles west of the trenches. Cataylane Scarp, on the maps.'

'That's inside their own lines.'

'Yes. It didn't make any sense at first. Then, this morning, one of our ships noted a wreck entering the atmosphere. It's been drifting toward the planet for ages but no-one'd paid it much attention. Just another dead ship from one of the battles up there. But then it surprised everyone.'

'How?'

'It fired its engines.'

'Not so dead, then.'

'Apparently not, Sergeant. And it seems the Nids spotted the signs before we did. Going over the sensor records, there is some evidence of life. Thermal emissions, power signatures, that sort of thing. Everyone just thought it was a wreck, though. Just a few residual systems – so no-one looked any closer. More fool us, I suppose. Anyway, it came down a couple of hours ago.'

'We didn't see anything.'

'You wouldn't have. Where you were, the re-entry bollide was above cloud-level.'

'Where do the Nids come into this?' Kodos asked.

'Simple,' Lakon replied grimly. 'When it passed above Cataylane, they started shooting at it. Scored a few hits, too.'

'So it's no friend of theirs?'

'It seems not. Anyway, it came down on our side of the lines earlier. But in an empty area. I want your squad to go and check it out. See if you can find out what the hell is going on.'

***

Even through the thick fuselage, Alaster could hear the grumble of the Thunderhawk's engines. He was sat strapped into a seat, still clutching the bolter. The trenches near the promethium mines were far away and steadily falling further behind. He had only just sat down. They'd been on board for more then half an hour. The intervening time had been filled with equipment checks. Alaster and the other marines had managed to clean themselves up. Getting rid of the mud had been a relief. Alaster had also changed the blade of his chainsword. The rotary teeth were looking worn. A couple had hairline fractures. They wouldn't have survived another contact.

That made it the second change since the hive centre. That had been four weeks ago. Alaster was counting it as his first proper battle as a Space Marine. He didn't think the engagement at the drop pod really rated – that had been more of an unplanned skirmish. The last month had been an intense one. After the hive centre, there had been an hour or so's respite as the Ravens had found themselves attending a memorial service. Three of the Blood Claws had been killed during the hive centre battle – to his lasting shame, Alaster hadn't even noticed at the time. In his defence, he supposed he had been busy at the time but it still seemed a shocking thing not to have missed.

Then, almost as soon as the coffins were being loaded onto a ship to be flown back to Fenris, the Ravens had found themselves sent back to the front lines. It had been like that for every day of the following four weeks, one fight after another. It seemed they'd been everywhere on Minoris. The Ravens kept getting shuttled back and forth from one troublespot to another. Wherever the Guard and the PDF needed backup, there went the Space Marines. And not just the Storm Ravens – in the space of that month Alaster had found himself fighting alongside the other Chapters deployed to Minoris too. Red Hawks, Space Wolves, Doom Eagles … just a year ago, it would have been exotic. Now it was almost mundane. The contrast amazed Alaster. He turned over the bolter in his hands, looking at the reflections on the exposed metal of the magazine. To think how much his life had changed…

Someone snored.

Alaster twitched, startled. He looked around. He heard it again. On the other side of the troop chamber, Nasty was staring at him – no, at his left.

'It's Patreus!' Nasty said. 'He's asleep!'

He was, too. Looking to his left, Alaster noted that Patreus's helmet was tilted at an angle, one of the earpieces leaning against the edge of a shoulder pad. The helmet kept moving slightly, in time with the breathing. The rise and fall of Patreus's chest was invisible under his breastplate but it kept shifting his neck slightly, enough to move his head.

Alaster looked back at Nasty. The troop chamber was a stark space, with bare riveted walls and ducts hanging down from the ceiling. Light was provided by a single striplight running down the middle. The Ravens were sat on metal seats that folded down from the wall. There was a thin layer of padding under Alaster's backside, but it wasn't enough to keep away the pressure of the metal seat-frame. Alaster could hear the atmosphere circulators, humming quietly behind their grills in the room's corners.

'You should wake him up,' Nasty said.

'Let him sleep,' Alaster said. 'We should too. When do you think we'll next get a chance?'

It was true. They hadn't slept in the entire month – longer, if you added in the hive centre. The energy of his enchanced body continued to amaze Alaster. He knew he was approaching some inbuilt limits, though. The last few days he'd occasionally found himself yawning. He was beginning to have moments of fatigue. At first he'd been confused – he'd almost forgotten what being tired felt like. The reminder hadn't been welcome. If nothing else, it had given him some greater respect for their Octalian and Minorian allies. The human soldiers must feel like this all the time, and yet most of them carried on with their job as best they could.

It was just a pity that in the case of some of the Minors, 'as best they could' wasn't the same as 'any good'.

Suddenly, Patreus jerked against his harness. He emitted a strangulated noise. It sounded like a groan crossed with a wail. It was the kind of noise a wounded animal might make.

'Whoa,' Nasty said. 'Bring back the yawning!'

Patreus spasmed again. He made another pained sound.

Alaster waved a hand in front of him. 'Patreus! Wake up!'

There was no response. Then their battle-brother made another tortured groan.

'Oh this is ridiculous,' Alaster muttered. He leaned over. Patreus had shifted to one side, exposing part of his neck between his helmet and the collar. Alaster poked him in the vulnerable spot.

Patreus spasmed awake. 'Bwuh!' Startled into self-defence, he flailed his arms. One of his fists knocked into Alaster's face. Alaster got a brief glance of something looming. Then he was knocked backwards. The dull clonk of fist on helmet echoed in the chamber.

'Hey!' Alaster said. 'Watch it!'

'What-?' Patreus shook his head violently. It seemed to clear his mind a bit. 'Sorry. I was asleep, wasn't I?'

'Yes,' Alaster said. 'You were.'

'You snore!' Nasty accused.

'No I don't.'

'Yes you did – we all bloody heard you!'

Patreus's helmet rotated its ceramite growl in Alaster's direction, entreating.

'Sorry, Brother,' Alaster said, feeling a bit awkward. 'Nasty's actually right. For once.'

'I was dreaming,' Patreus said.

Suddenly, Nasty was very still. The air vents hissed gently above them.

'Were you?' Alaster asked. He felt an apprehensive chill rise along his spine.

'Yes. It was kind of odd.'

It was almost certainly nothing. It had been a busy month. They'd done a lot. There had been moment after moment of intense emotion – the apprehension of an imminent strike to the elation of victory, the rage at the enemy and the joy of comradeship. Combat was an emotional rollercoaster. It would be no surprise if it led to bad dreams.

The pitch of the engines fell as the Thunderhawk moved out from a difficult side-wind.

'Anything you want to share?' Alaster asked.

Patreus shrugged. 'There wasn't much, really. I just saw the planet, you know, from above.'

'That all?' Alaster felt relieved. He noted Nasty had relaxed.

'It caught fire,' Patreus said.

Alaster blinked. 'The planet caught fire?'

'I didn't say it made any sense. But yes, I saw it burn. Then it turned into a candle flame. The candle burnt down and went out. Then you woke me up.'

'Weird,' Alaster said. He could feel the vibration of the engines through the deck under his boots.

'Yes,' Patreus said. 'I-'

He was about to say more when he was cut off. There was a click of an autolock then the hatch at the end of the room popped open. With a clunk-clunk of boots on the metal decking, Kodos strode in.

'Time for you lot to wake up,' the sergeant announced. 'We've got work to do, Brothers. Brother Karo, come with me. The rest of you, check your gear over. We're deploying in two hours. Come on Karo - move yourself!'

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster said with a suppressed groan. He unclipped his harness and got to his feet. Holding the bolter muzzle-down, he followed Kodos out of the room. He could feel the engines rumbling under his feet.

They walked through a couple of dimly-lit passageways and up a plain steel ladder, into the cockpit. Outside the canopy, half the sky was blazing blue and the other half, below them, was a mass of fluffy white cloud. A large mass was streaming past to their left.

The cockpit was full of background sound. Alaster could hear the pilots, quietly talking into their microphones. He could hear the sound of fingers on touch-keys, and the soft click-slide of joysticks. The cyclic rumble of the engines was audible here too, although not as loud in this compartment.

There was a space behind the pilots' chairs, with a holotank. Brother-Corporal Eorvan was already stood next to it. Alaster noted a landscape displayed inside the tank. 'Is that where we're going?' he asked.

Kodos nodded. 'Yes Brother. This is the Janessis Ridge, in Setillian Province. The river over here is the Hydra.'

Alaster blinked. A familiar place? The river was a meandering bluish strip to the west of the ridge. Some woodland lay between the water and the hills. 'Where's the delta?'

'Not on this map. Setillian is four hundred clicks inland.'

'Oh,' Alaster said, feeling a little stupid. 'So what are the Nids doing in Setillian?'

'Nothing,' Eorvan said.

Alaster blinked again. 'Then why are we going there?'

'We're going to be doing our rescue-the-innocent routine,' Kodos said. Was there just a hint of sarcasm in the sergeant's voice? The eyelenses of his helmet didn't give anything away. The overhead light-panels gleamed on the skull on his brow. 'There's been a ship crash. Setillian is a long way behind the frontline – but it's where the ship's come down.'

'That's … sad,' Alaster said carefully, 'but why does it need us?'

'Suspicions,' Eorvan put in laconically.

'The ship didn't talk to anyone on the way in,' Kodos explained. 'That's a bit weird. It looked dead, so everyone ignored. Then it suddenly came to life above the atmosphere and almost managed a controlled landing. The Nids had a pot at it with their long-range artillery. Almost got it, too.'

'Weird,' Eorvan added.

'I don't get it,' Alaster said. 'What's suspicious about that?'

'Why didn't the ship call in? Signal for help? Flash its landing lights?' Kodos shrugged. 'Something stinks here. Maybe they're legitimate refugees. Or maybe the Nids have got to them. Maybe the shooting was staged. Either way, it needs checking out.'

Alaster nodded. Okay, that made some sense. Sending Astartes against an unknown was reasonable. If it proved to be overkill then never mind. If not, then the Imperium had the best troops available at the site. If things went bad, he and his brothers could control the situation until reinforcements could arrive. 'Do we have a threat assessment?' he asked.

Kodos tabbed a holographic key at the edge of the tank. A new series of windows opened in the display. 'Here's the worst-case scenario. We know the ship's type – it's an _Alexander_-class transport. We know how much life-support capacity it has. Assume that's maxed out with Genestealers and this is what we get.'

'Why Genestealers?' Alaster asked.

'Space,' Eorvan put in.

'The _Alexander_-types don't have huge internal spaces,' Kodos explained. 'They're people-carriers, not freight-carriers. It won't be carrying any truly massive bugs – there's just nowhere to put them.'

'Could they have hollowed it out?'

'Not without crippling it. Look at the schematics.' Kodos pointed at a window shpwing a 3D image of a ship's blueprints. 'Air conduits, power cables, plasma reactors … they're all distributed around the cabins. There's not much you could change without making the vessel useless.'

'Okay, so we've got an upper limit on our enemy,' Alaster said. That was good – or at least, reassuring to know it couldn't get any worse than a certain level. 'How many?'

'No more than sixty Genestealers,' Kodos replied.

Alaster blinked. 'Sixty?' Yuck. For one squad, that would be a pain – particularly if they attacked all at once.

Kodos pointed to another document. 'There are the likely breakdowns. Possible different batches of bugs, that sort of thing. Read them over. We think the Genestealers are the most likely, though. Once you're done, I want a field plan from you. I need to know how you plan to use your two. I'll send you my draft engagement plan too. Now move – we haven't got all day!'

They didn't know it then, but the reality was to prove to be both better and worse than a ship full of Genestealers.

***

Some time later, Alaster walked down the ramp of the Thunderhawk, bolter clutched in front of him. As he walked his boots sounded quietly on the ramp. He scanned the land around them. It was a huge change from the environments he'd got used to. This part of Minoris was relatively unscathed by the war. There was no significant Nid infestation here. The ground was covered in honest green plantlife. Some of the trees still had their leaves. Overhead, there were even gaps in the cloud. Alaster could see blue sky. In the distance he could see the curving shape of the river, two clicks away and a hundred metres below them. The Thunderhawk had landed on the gentle, grassy slope between the woods and the rolling hills beyond.

Alaster stepped onto the grass. He swept his gaze around, bolter held out in front of him. He saw no sign of any enemies. All he could hear was the rustle of the grass in the wind and the quiet sigh of the breeze.

He raised a hand, gesturing with a couple of fingers. Patreus and Nasty came forth. They moved into position on either side of him and each a dozen metres back.

'Sit-rep,' Kodos's voice crackled quietly in Alaster's ears.

'No contacts,' Alaster reported tersely. 'Situation quiet.'

'Heard and received. Move out.'

'Yes Sergeant.' Alaster waved his marines forward.

The plan they'd worked out was a simple enough one. Alaster and his fireteam would scout ahead to the actual crash site on foot. Kodos and the others were waiting inside the Thunderhawk, with jump packs strapped to their backs. If the scouting team were attacked, the others would jump in after them. Hopefully, the enemy would be tricked into thinking it faced a smaller force then it did and deploy all its strength against Alaster's team. Then, when another fireteam jumped in on its heads, it would be torn to pieces.

Alaster shifted the bolter in his hands. That was the plan, at any rate. They walked forward, the only sound being the quiet rustle of grass under their boots.

Doing his part of the ops plan had felt odd. Alaster had a month's practise now, but it still seemed a bit weird. Still, it was one of his responsibilities as team leader. Alaster had put the outline together quickly enough and had fired it off to Kodos. Then he'd gone to check on the others.

Kodos had approved the plan shortly afterwards, adding his own comments to the document he sent back over the comm.-net. To Alaster's surprise, he'd been left with an amount of spare time. He'd used it as an opportunity for a last check of his equipment and then a quick trip the shower. Alaster had been surprised by how much he'd enjoyed the hot water. Then he'd realised it had been the first wash in a month. He'd watched the water spiral down the plughole, taking with it the sweat and grime. In fairness, there was a lot less of it then his old body would have produced in a month, but it was still not nice to see. Once he was out of the shower, he'd discovered just how much his suit had started to smell. He'd promised himself he'd disinfect it thoroughly when he had a chance. He'd changed back into it, trying not to shudder. He'd had to remind himself that smelling bad was better than getting shot.

After that, there'd been just enough time left for half an hour's much-needed sleep. It was impressive – just that half-hour had made a huge difference. He felt more alert and clear-headed then he had in days.

They were approaching the crest of the hill up ahead. Alaster signalled for his brothers to spread out further. Then he dropped to all fours. The hill was a long, rolling undulation in the land. They couldn't really go around it. There were some bushes at the top. To avoid silhouetting himself against the skyline, Alaster crawled behind one of thicker ones. A quick glance showed him that Patreus and Nasty had done the same. Good.

The wind muttered amongst the leaves. Alaster looked down into the crash site. He could see it from behind the screen of leaves. As they shifted in the wind, different chunks came into view.

The falling ship had hit the land at an angle. It had lost a lot of speed on the way down. It hadn't formed a crater. Instead, it had ploughed a long trench. Banks of disturbed earth were heaped up around it. Steam was still rising in places, loose greyish plumes that pulsed and wobbled in the wind. The ship lay half-buried at the end of the linear scar. The thruster-cowls of its ion-engines loomed out, casting shadows over the disturbed earth below.

Alaster couldn't see any activity.

'Sit-rep, Karo.' It was Kodos again.

'No sign of anyone, Sergeant. Your orders?'

'Proceed on foot. Circle the ship. Don't close until you've seen it all. And keep us informed!'

'Acknowledged.' Alaster glanced in each direction, looking in tun toward Nasty and Patreus. 'Come on you two,' he said.

The marines made their way carefully down the hillside. They were halfway down when Patreus spotted something. 'Alaster! Look!'

'What is it, Patreus?'

Patreus was pointing. Alaster followed his finger. There was a dip in the ground near the crashed ship. Something had landed in it. An edge was sticking out past the grass, gleaming in the sunlight.

It was an airlock door.

Alaster looked above it. Sure enough, three metres up the side of the ship, there was a black opening. And – there was a rope ladder, hanging out of it! Someone or something had already climbed out.

'Skak,' he muttered. 'Sergeant – change of plan. Someone's here. You'd better get over here!'

He half-expected Kodos to argue, but the sergeant didn't. 'Acknowledged,' was all he said. As the ranking Raven on site, Alaster did technically have the authority to order a change of plan – which did make sense, after all the commander on the ground might well see something that the planners hadn't known about. However it felt weird to actually do it.

'Okay,' Alaster said. 'Nasty, Patreus, fan out. I want that door covered from as many angles as possible. I'll move to dead ahead and-'

A new voice spoke. 'There's another one on the other side. But we couldn't get that one open. It was blocked solid, would you believe?'

Startled, the marines whirled. From nowhere, a man had appeared – and he was behind them! Alaster realised he had his bolter up – and he'd already flicked the safety off. Nasty had his out too. Patreus was reaching for his chainsword, which he had hung behind his back on its strap.

The man stared at the two barrels pointed at him. He waved his hands in front of him defensively. 'Whoa, whoa, put those down! Beat that for a welcome!'

'Who the hell,' Nasty asked, 'are you? And what the skak are you doing creeping up on us?'

The man was a couple of inches shy of six feet tall. He was looking up at the two Ravens, craning his neck a little. He had a short goatee beard. A tricorn hat was sat on his head. Alaster noted a bald spot emerging from below one corner of the hat. The man was wearing a long great coat. It was a well-worn grey. Alaster noted a couple of bulges under it. Around his neck was some sort of pendant, with a large crystal sat in the middle of it. It was a vivid red.

'Calm down,' the man said. He didn't look scared, Alaster realised. This situation felt wrong – what sort of person could stare down an Astartes gun-barrel without even a twinge?

'Who are you?' Alaster asked. 'What do you want?'

The wind moaned over the hill. Alaster heard a faint whine of jump packs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw four specks appear in the sky over the hilltop.

Kodos's voice crackled quietly in Alaster's ears. 'Brother – behind you! There's another one.'

'Julius,' a woman's voice said. 'Stop baiting the Space Marines. It's mean.'

The man – Julius – looked amused. He held his hands up, palms out. 'Look. Unarmed.'

Alaster risked a look behind him. A woman had appeared, walking along the hillside. Where had she been hiding? She was tall. He reckoned she might even have an inch on this Julius. She was wearing dark trousers, serious-looking walking boots and a dark coat, buttoned up to her throat. She had long, black hair. A few strands drifted around in the wind. Her eyes were sharp. She radiated a sense of complete awareness. She walked confidently and precisely. Alaster could hear the muddy ground, scrunching under each boot-step as she walked.

There was a rustle of back-jets. Four assault marines, jumping in. They landed at each point of the compass around the tableaux. The woman glanced at them with some curiosity but no evident fear. She kept walking.

'Who are you,' demanded Kodos, 'and what are you dong here?'

Something else caught Alaster's eye. The woman was wearing one piece of jewelry. It was on a simple gold chain, hanging over the breast of her coat. It was a simple golden bar with serifs at the top and the bottom and an Imperial eagle sculpted across it.

The woman walked right up to them. Alaster's shadow was actually falling across her feet. She looked calmly at the Ravens.

'Hello,' she said. 'How nice to meet you as well. I presume you'd be the Storm Ravens. As to who I am? My name is Lady Ariela Sharrow.' She lifted the pendant with a hand. 'And I've been sent to this world on behalf of the Inquisition.'


	30. Chapter 30 Asserting Authority

'Sadly we couldn't,' Lady Sharrow explained.

'Why not?' Kodos asked.

Alaster and Patreus were stood on either side of the door to the troop compartment. The Thunderhawk's engines were rumbling again as they flew back into the sky. They were headed back to the planetary capital, as fast as the ship could move.

Lady Sharrow and Kodos were sat on opposite sides of the compartment. The Inquisitor was sat on one bench, along with her retinue. She was sipping from a mug of tea. A little wisp of steam rose from it. A pot sat on the bench next to her. She looked like she was enjoying the beverage. Alaster wasn't sure what exactly was going on – Kodos seemed to be suspicious of the situation. He was certainly wary of her. No wonder – an Imperial Inquisitor! Alaster wondered what she was doing here.

It seemed Kodos did too. 'Why couldn't you?' he repeated. His helmet was sat on the bench next to him. Significantly, though, his plasma pistol was still in one hand. The grip looked casual but Alaster knew it was anything but. 'You must have had an astropath on the ship. After the comm circuit blew, they could have called ahead.'

Lady Sharrow sipped some more tea. 'Only if they're intact. I said our normal-space re-entry was tough. This Shadow in the Warp – it nearly ripped our Warp engines out. There was lots of shaking. The ship all but came apart. That's what did in the communications, I think – something got knocked loose and smashed the rest of the circuitry. Anyway, our astropath tried to reach out to the planet, through the storm – but it seems the effort was too much. He had an aneurysm.'

'Where is he? I don't see him here.' Kodos scanned the other three members of Sharrow's retinue. They consisted of the man called Julius, another man and a woman.

'He isn't. He slipped into a coma. He was dead two days later. There wasn't much our infirmary could do.' Lady Sharrow sighed. 'The brain is a delicate organ, unfortunately. We had to jettison the body. There wasn't much else we could do with it.'

'So you found yourselves – what was it, four billion clicks out?'

Lady Sharrow shook her head. 'No, three. Three point one two, in fact.' Kodos had already asked her that. He was checking, Alaster realised, checking that her story was consistent. 'We were just past the system's eighth planet. A rather unappealing ball of cold gas, I'm led to believe.'

'Supposedly it has some rings,' Kodos remarked. 'Someone told me they were pretty.'

'Really?' Lady Sharrow sounded surprised. 'I couldn't see any when I looked through the ship's telescope. Mind you, we weren't very close to the gas giant. We never came closer than seventy million kilometres. You could see a disk – but that was it. It was a sort of dull blue.'

'Lovely,' Kodos remarked neutrally. 'So, aside from sightseeing, what happened next?'

'Not a lot,' the woman shrugged. 'Three billion clicks is a long way to go at sublight, least of all with damaged engines. Space is so big, don't you think? It's taken us months to get into the inner system. We were going to take orbit around Majoris and try and signal for help. But there's a big space battle going on. We couldn't identify ourselves as friends. So our only option was to try and make planetfall. We were going to head for Majoris first but the engines went funny.'

'What, all of a sudden?'

'Oh no – we'd had trouble with them all the way in. But we hadn't used them much once we reached cruising speed. It seems those last firings to match orbit with Majoris and Minoris – those were a bit too much. Something gave out.'

'We heard the bang,' Julius put in. 'It was loud.'

'Thank you, Julius.' Lady Sharrow was polite but there was something cool in her eyes. Alaster shivered underneath his armour. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that gaze. 'As I was saying,' she continued, 'we really didn't have much choice left. Minoris was the only planet we could get to before we lost all control. The thought of being stuck in a battlezone on a ship with an unstable drive – well, you can imagine how enthusiastic that made me.'

'Not fun,' Kodos agreed. Alaster noted something shift in the sergeant's face, just slightly. Kodos had relaxed a bit. It seemed he was prepared to believe Lady Sharrow's story. 'We had a pretty choppy ride in too. It seems it's getting worse.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Yes. The Shadow's deepening. On the way in – well, we had to go to silent running several times. You see, there's two more Nid fleets heading inwards.'

Kodos unleashed a blistering string of swear-words. 'Two more? We haven't heard anything!'

'They seem to have devised this trick of deep-freezing themselves,' Lady Sharrow said. 'You can't have true stealth in space, obviously. But if you hide your emissions in an obscure part of the spectrum – well, people won't see what they aren't looking for, will they? We only saw them as we were close enough to see the ships occluding the odd star. After that we knew they were there. We started monitoring all parts of the spectrum. This is a major attack. It seems the infestation on Minoris is drawing more bugs in.'

Kodos swore again. 'They've already pulled that deep-freeze trick once. What the skak are the Tech-Priests doing? We shouldn't be vulnerable to it a second time.'

Lady Sharrow rolled her eyes. 'Tech-Priests. They have their own agenda. Sometimes I wonder how much it coincides with the Imperium's.'

'Two more fleets…' Kodos shook his head. Alaster could imagine how the sergeant was feeling. Alaster was privately appalled. The existing infestation was bad enough.

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I wish I could have been the bearer of better news.'

Kodos nodded wearily. 'Honesty is better than false optimism.'

'On the subject of optimism, Sergeant, how is the war going?'

Kodos hesitated for a moment before answering. 'We're still fighting, if that's what you mean.'

'Of course. I wasn't suggesting otherwise.' As she sipped her tea, Lady Sharrow appeared the soul of civility. She pursed her lips and glanced at the mug. 'Empty. How tiresome.' She reached for the pot. Liquid tinkled on china as she poured herself another cup. 'Brother-Sergeant. Frankly, I'm here because the Administratum has … concerns.'

'In what way?' Kodos didn't look like he was enjoying the conversation. Verbal sparring with an Inquisitor clearly wasn't his kind of game.

'With Governor Sarrack. His leadership. Or, to be blunt, the lack thereof.'

'That skakker? The only thing he's leading is theft from the Treasury!'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'I'm hardly surprised. There've been rumours about his activities.'

'Then why hasn't he been investigated?'

She drank some more tea. 'Politics. Quite simply, Sarrack pays the planet's taxes on time, without argument. That puts him in a minority of one in this sector. It's made the Sectoral Administratum reluctant to act against him.'

'He actually pays taxes?' Kodos looked surprised.

'Yes. It's been his token clever move. He steals from the internal tithes, not the Imperial ones. Other than that, the man appears to be an uninspired dullard. Another deadwood governor – not that there's any shortage of them. Normally we wouldn't be greatly bothered – in peacetime a mediocre governor is really quite unimportant.'

'This isn't peacetime, though.' As if to emphasize, Kodos hefted his pistol.

'Yes, and there's the problem. Also, by difficult coincidence, this planet's strategic importance is huge. If we lose Minoris to the Nids, then Majoris becomes indefensible. If they can cycle Minoris's biosphere into more Nids…' She shrugged. 'If we lose this system then the rest of sector is good as gone. Given the distribution of Warp routes, we'd have no chance of holding the surrounding systems. When I set out, the Shadow in the Warp was already causing navigation problems. Those can only have got worse. That will be disrupting civil shipping as well as military. The longer this war drags on, the worse the effects on the sectoral economy. There was talk of food riots on Corlos and Jara already.' Her brow wrinkled. 'And that was before I found myself marooned three billion clicks out. The Emperor only knows how bad things must be there by now.'

'And the Governor?'

He can't be allowed to cause any further problems. Imperial authority needs to be reasserted.'

After that the conversation turned to relative trivialities. Throughout, Alaster felt a sense of unease. H found something about this woman unnerving. There was an air of power about her. She seemed polite enough but she was clearly used to being obeyed. It showed in her eyes.

At maximum atmospheric thrust, the flight back to the capital took just under two and a half hours. Shortly after that the Thunderhawk touched down at a military airstrip on the edge of the city. Waiting for them were two Rhinos bearing the Storm Ravens colours.

As they stood on the tarmac, clouds scudding past in the overcast sky, Kodos gestured toward it. 'This will take us to the Palace,' he explained to Lady Sharrow. 'I gather there's a delegation waiting there for you.'

Lady Sharrow looked cynical, just for an instant. 'Yes, probably,' she said. 'They may be disappointed. I intend to get to work immediately.'

Kodos nodded. 'Of course. If you'd care to board…?'

'Thank you, Brother-Sergeant.' The Inquisitor turned and walked up the ramp. Her retinue flowed after her. Kodos looked back at the marines.

'Right,' he said, 'here's what we're doing. We're going as a convoy. There's been some trouble in the capital. You can't be too careful. Alaster, you're with me. We'll be in this Rhino, with Lady Sharrow. I'll be busy at the wheel. I want you on the storm bolter at the hatch. Don't shoot unless we're attacked.

'As for the rest of you, you're with Eorvan in the other Rhino.' He pointed.

Nasty stuck his hand up. 'Can I drive?'

'Do you know how?'

'Uh … no.'

'There's your answer, then. No, Eorvan will be driving. Patreus, I want you on the other storm bolter. The rest of you – if we get attacked, your job is to jump out and gun down the idiots. Any questions?' Before anyone had a chance to speak, Kodos quickly added, 'No? Good – let's move.'

A few minutes later, Alaster's top half was sticking up out of the topside hatch in the Rhino. He was stood on the platform below it. To fit through the hole he'd had to remove his backpack. It felt a bit odd. His suit was powered off a cable plugged into one of the ports. It snaked off past his side, back down into the Rhino.

The Rhino was moving forward. He could feel the wind pushing against him. His hands were wrapped around the handgrips of the storm bolter. He was peering out from behind the chunky gun.

They were making their way down the long highway that extended from the port into the city. Alaster noted a street sign, listing various distances including ALBATROSS CITY CENTRE – 6 Km. Albatross. That was an ominous name for a city. Alaster wondered how it had got its name.

The weather remained as inclement as ever. As they drove, a brief squall passed overhead. Cold rain hammered down. Alaster glanced at the droplets as they splashed off the dull metal of the gun. He listened to them _plink_ing on the metal. The storm was intense but brief. It passed over a few minutes later. Alaster watched it go, a dirty smudge over the skyline.

They were getting into Albatross proper now. The city was a mass of tower blocks and tenement buildings. Most of them were made out of a beige-coloured local stone. It was ubiquitous. The streets were lined with lamp-posts. Alaster noticed that most of them had lost their covers. He realised that most of the sockets were vacant. He felt puzzled. What use was a bulb-less streetlamp?

The cloudy midday shed a greyish light over the streets. They were busy. Amongst the ground-level awnings and the puddle-strewn pavement, people flocked. To Alaster's surprise, few of them even spared a glance toward the Chapter-liveried Rhinos. Even most of the local drivers seemed blasé, although the cars did grudgingly give way to the armoured carriers.

Alaster noted there weren't an awful lot of cars on the road. At one point the small convoy passed a charging station. There were no cars plugged into the electric-spirit invocation-points. The trash built up by them suggested it had been quiet for a while. Alaser saw that the driveway was closed off by a single length of chain. A sign hung from it: CLOSED DUE TO POWER SHORTAGES.

Not good.

He looked back at the people. Examining them more closely, he noted that a lot of them were walking barefoot on the dirty pavements. He frowned. This was supposed to be a wealthy urban centre. The patched trousers and elbow-holed shirts didn't leave much evidence for it. He remembered Lady Sharrow saying something about the sector economy. It seemed the local system was on the rocks too.

A lot of the people, he realised, looked hungry.

Albatross didn't seem a cheery city. Here and there, if you looked, there was evidence of its former prosperity. Buildings with painted facades – even if the lights in the windows were mostly off. Expensive-looking clothes stores – even if half of them were closed and the rest had windows full of bare mannequins. The streets were lined with posh cars. Almost all of them looked abandoned, like their owners had just given up when the charging stations started closing.

The Rhinos worked their way toward the city's administrative district. They found their way onto a wide, tree-lined boulevard. This would have been nicer, except that the crash-winter had caused the trees to moult their leaves. At least the pavements were cleaner here. The pressing crowds of tired refugees were thinner, although some still managed to leak past the inadequate police cordons.

Alaster was glad to leave behind the outer section of the city. Its grey misery was infectious. For the first time since he'd set foot on Minoris, he found himself having doubts about victory. Sure, he'd known that he might well die in this fight, even that his comrades might too, but he'd never believed that the Imperium could lose. And yet, seeing the despairing condition of the capital, he now found himself wondering. Had their fighting here only delayed the inevitable?

At last the Rhinos pulled into the wide courtyard outside the Governor's palace. With an effort of will, Alaster banished the heretical thoughts. Alaster stayed on the guns as the Rhinos parked. Finally, with everyone else disembarked, it was time to join them.

From the moment she stepped onto the fastidiously-clean flight of steps up to the palace, Lady Sharrow radiated confidence. Her face was set in an imperious expression. She swept up the steps. It seemed like everyone was pulled along in her wake, including the squad of Storm Ravens.

The palace was fronted with a columned portico. Lady Sharrow strode in under it, looking as if she owned the place. There was a delegation of courtiers waiting. One of them, wearing a particularly fine outfit with an extravagantly-plumed hat, stepped forward. He opened his mouth.

'You,' Lady Sharrow said, pointing to the elegantly-dressed chamberlain-cum-fop, 'make yourself useful. Inform His Lordship the Governor that he has an appointment with Lady-Inquisitor Ariela Sharrow.'

The man's mouth opened and closed. He hadn't had a chance to speak. A burst of outrage at this rude treatment flashed in his eyes. Then he noticed the pendant hung around her neck. Outrage vanished, winking out like a candle doused with a bath of cold water. Fear now glinted in his eyes. 'Uh – yes, of course, Your Ladyship,' he stammered.

'Good. Now be a nice gent and show me to wherever he is, would you?'

'Uh, Your Ladyship, he's in a muh-meeting…'

'Yes. He will be shortly. With me.' Lady Sharrow smiled coldly. 'I'm sure he wouldn't want to be late for it, would he?'

The fop took in her retinue. Then he belatedly noticed the squad of Space Marines stood behind them, and the Rhinos parked in the courtyard. His complexion paled even further. Alaster noted his breathing visibly speed up. The courtier looked like he was about to faint. Not even speaking, he bobbed his scared head. Alaster watched the luxuriant plume rise and fall. The hat's weight was so much that it actually slid forward on the man's head. He wondered how much it had cost. He also wondered how many weeks that much money would feed one of those hungry families in the outer city.

Alaster realised he had no sympathy of any kind for the terrified courtier.

The man chose that moment to speak. 'Uh – this way!' It came out in a high-pitched squeak. The man turned and all-but-bolted into the palace. Smiling regally, Lady Sharrow followed him.

The courtier led the bizarre procession into the gilded luxury of the palace. As they walked, Alaster looked around. The place was filled with expensive hangings, luxurious rugs and quality artworks. The walls were painted with the finest colours and no opportunity to gold-leaf a gilt-capable surface had been passed up. Fine crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Here at least there was no shortage of electricity. The bright lights gleamed off a thousand golden surfaces.

They walked over polished marble floors and up stairs of the finest wood. As he placed his entire bulk onto one of the treads, Alaster listened carefully for the usual creak. Not a sound, even under the weight of a fully-armed Astartes. The stairs were well-built. Everywhere they went, liveried servants scattered out from the procession's path.

'So this is where the money's going,' Sandrer remarked. He sounded amused but also dismayed.

'Back when I was a burglar-' Nasty began.

'-Last year,' cut in Patreus.

'-Okay, last year.' Nasty didn't miss a beat. 'But seriously, we loved places like this. There's so much clutter, you could just grab some stuff and no-one'd notice.'

'Really?' Patreus asked. 'I thought the super-rich are super-paranoid.'

'Look at all this art skak.' Nasty pointed at a painting. 'These rich people, it's all for display. This Sarrack person probably hasn't even looked at half these paintings. He wouldn't notice if one or two of them vanished.'

'What if there's a big gap? You know, on the wall?'

'We'd bring a hammer and some picture hooks to jobs like this,' Nasty replied. 'If you just move the other paintings a bit, you can make the hole go away. Trust me, these rich buggers don't notice.'

Alaster noticed Lady Ariela had stopped. Suddenly he realised the other two were speaking out loud, not over the comm.-net. She turned and looked back at them, a funny expression on her face. 'A Space Marine?' she said. 'Doing _burglary_?'

Alaster became aware that the procession had ground to a halt halfway up the stairs. Everyone was looking at them.

Kodos sighed loudly. 'Oh yes,' he said, 'I forgot the introductions, didn't I?' He stepped forward. He pointed at Nasty. 'This one is Brother Sandy Shepherd-'

'Please don't call me that, Sergeant! Not in front of all these people!'

'-also known as Nasty. He's not, really, more just moderately bad-mannered, I'd say.'

'Really?' Lady Sharrow said.

'Yes,' Kodos remarked matter-of-factly. 'He's killed less than two dozen men, would you believe? Not very nasty at all, to be honest. Anyway, he used to be a career criminal. That's at fifteen, you understand. We're currently trying to turn him into an honest warrior.'

Was there a hint of mischief in Lady Sharrow's eyes? 'Are you having any success?'

'Maybe a little,' Kodos conceded. Nasty suddenly stood up straighter. Kodos turned and pointed at Patreus. 'This is Brother Patreus. He's very religious. He's from a monastery. I also understand he's the only person there who didn't manage to get laid.'

Someone in the audience made a choking noise.

Kodos turned to look at Alaster. 'This is Brother Alaster Karo. He's too clever for his own good – so he's in charge of these two reprobates, at least until I say otherwise. He was destined for a life of pen-pushing at the Administratum – but he's somehow stumbled onto an honest vocation. We're still not quite sure how that happened.'

'Fascinating,' Lady Sharrow said.

'This over here is Brother Fegust. He would've been digging ore out of the ground in the Kialdos Range. Instead he's digging graves for Tyranids.' Fegust snapped to attention. 'He's good with a shovel. He can dig a latrine like no-one else, you know.'

'Useful skill, I suppose,' Lady Sharrow said in a neutral voice.

'And over here we have Brother Sandrer. He could've been a sectoral-league racket-player. Instead he's making do as our comic relief.'

'Sarge!' Sandrer moaned in protest.

'Brother, we haven't forgotten that performance with your helmet,' Kodos replied. ' "How" indeed. It was like those cats that can get up trees but not back down again. He got it on okay, you see, but getting it off caused problems.'

There was a nervous titter from somewhere in the audience.

'And lastly we have Brother-Corporal Eorvan. He's been given a beating with the short straw. You see he's been lumbered helping me with these – ah – _recruits_ here.'

'Always glad to serve, ma'am,' Eorvan said, banging his breastplate in salute.

Lady Sharrow regarded them all for a moment, each in turn. 'Well,' she said after a pause, 'I suppose that gives me a much-needed lesson in stereotypes, then.'

Kodos sounded surprised. 'Your Ladyship?'

'One is usually led to think of Marines as almost Chapter drones,' she remarked. 'Clearly appearances can be deceiving.'

Kodos was silent for a moment. Alaster felt confused. Had they just been complimented or insulted? He wasn't sure. Finally, Kodos spoke. 'Well, I'm glad today has been educational for you, ma'am.'

Lady Sharrow smiled. There was something predatory in it. 'Educational. I like that word. Talking of which, there's a Governor who needs some educating.' She looked at the hat-wearing fop. 'You. Do lead us on.'

*

His Most Righteous Lordship, Governor Amareno Filias Sarrack the Second, was peering short-sightedly at the slate on his desk when the door to his private office banged open. He looked up, face twisting into sudden rage. 'WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!' he bellowed. 'I SAID NO DISTURBANCES!' His eyes set on the quivering figure of his majordomo, who was none other than the hat-wearing fop. 'Melcor! What is this presumption? You have your instructions!'

'F-forgive me, my Lord,' the man began, 'but-'

He never got a chance to finish. Lady Sharrow strode in moments later. Her retinue followed her into the room. Then, lastly, the Space Marines filed in. Kodos pushed the door shut behind them. It clicked firmly into place.

Lady Sharrow looked around the wood-pannelled office. She took in the big marble fireplace, the comfortable sofa sat next to it, the gilded clock on the mantelpiece and the rich bookshelves. She glanced back at the Governor and his large desk.

'You,' she said, pointing at him. 'Yes, you. The fat man behind the desk. You'd be Sarrack, wouldn't you?'

Alaster followed Lady Sharrow's pointing finger. The Governor, he noticed, was somewhat portly. He was wearing what looked a bit like a dress-uniform jacket, albeit one almost buried under medals and decorations. He was technically the commander of the Minorian forces. Clearly, if nothing else, he took the impressive uniforms seriously. The majesty of the uniform was undermined by the flushed and angry face above it, especially its double-chin. It was difficult to imagine anyone that plump making selection for any self-respecting officer corps.

Alaster tried to imagine someone like this in the government back on Delta. He realised he couldn't. There was simply no way Octalian voters would ever accept someone this overtly-pompous for the Assembly. Oh well. Alaster supposed he had more evidence for the superiority of his own homeworld – if ever any was needed.

It seemed that somewhere deep in the Governor's head, some sort of reality was intervening. He'd never experienced anyone behaving like this toward him – least of all someone who had been escorted into his own private office by his own chamberlain and a force of Space Marines. The outrage on his puffy face sunk a little bit, replaced by suspicion. His piggy little eyes locked onto Lady Sharrow.

'Who are you?' he asked.

In answer she raised her pendant. 'Inquisitor-Lady Ariela Sharrow,' she said. 'As if I haven't said that enough times today.'

The Governor finally, belatedly, noticed her Inquisitorial rosette. The furious flush in his face abruptly paled. 'Oh,' he said. He swallowed. 'Umm. Of course. My apologies, your Ladyship. I wasn't expecting a visitor of your, uh, calibre.'

'The Inquisition doesn't generally call ahead,' Lady Sharrow said calmly. Her entire manner changed, shifting to a patronising, syrupy politeness. 'Most of our visitees aren't so keen on seeing us, for some tragic reason. They have an annoying habit of bolting. You know, through windows and doors and up chimneys, that sort of thing. It's terrible. I'm sure you can imagine how much such inhospitable behaviour wounds me.'

The Governor swallowed again. He worried at his collar with a pudgy finger. 'Oh, yes, how positively dreadful. Another sign of the tragic moral decline of today's society, no doubt.' He looked at her, as if expecting some response.

Lady Sharrow just looked back, smiling slightly. She said nothing.

The Governor fingered at his collar again. The silence dragged on. Someone coughed. Alaster became aware of the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Lady Sharrow just carried on looking at the Governor, smiling that scary half-smile.

Suddenly, the clock chimed.

Governor Sarrack started, visibly startled. He exhaled hard. He swallowed again. Finally he managed to pluck up some courage. 'Uh – Your Ladyship – if it wouldn't be too bold of me to inquire … why are you here?'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'I'm here, my Lord Governor, at the request of the Administratum. There are … concerns.'

'Concerns, dear Lady? Of what sort?'

'Oh, you know. The usual. Money. Finances. A suspiciously fast-growing private bank account held on Ascontis Three. That sort of thing.'

The Governor had started shaking, just a little. There was sweat gleaming on his brow. 'Oh. Uh. I say.'

'And,' Lady Sharrow continued, 'something rather more important. Very much more important, in fact.'

'And … umm … what would that be?'

'It concerns a small matter of a war.'

'A war?' The Governor wiped his forehead. Some of the sweat smeared into his hair, matting it against his florid skin.

'Yes. A war. They're such nasty businesses, you must agree. But there's worse. You understand, it grieves me to say this … but this war I mentioned? Well it appears that the Imperium may be losing.' Her tone was light but there was no humour at all in the woman's eyes. They glinted like icebergs. At that moment, the Governor's face put Alaster in mind of nothing so much as a big steamship, bearing helplessly down on that iceberg through the freezing waters, without time to turn aside.

'Oh, I say. That is … that would be … a truly shocking prospect.' The Governor swayed.

'You understand I don't say these things lightly,' Lady Sharrow remarked. 'However, though it grieves me even further, my dear Lord Governor, I must speak on. You see, I'm not just referring to any war. Sad as the tragic reality may be, I am in fact referring to the one right here. On this very planet. The one that, at least in theory, you are leading.'

The Governor now looked like a stray animal caught in the headlights of a speeding car. 'Um … aah … I see.' The last trace of resistance went out of him. He subsided into his chair like a deflating balloon.

The upholstery creaked under his weight. Over the mantelpiece, the clock chimed again.

Lady Sharrow walked up to the desk. She put one foot after the other in a neat, calculated way. With the Governor now seated, she towered over him. She looked down at him, her face free of pity. 'The Imperial authorities,' she explained, 'commissioned me to attend to this system. It was felt that someone might be needed to guide the efforts here. Someone with the suitable skills to break through any possible deadlocks. Someone with the suitable experience to get the machinery of government running again. Someone with the experience to put matters right. It was hoped that my presence wouldn't be necessary. _I_ hoped that my presence wouldn't be necessary. But sadly, so far I haven't seen anything to suggest any cause for optimism. And you understand, I've only been on the planet for five hours.'

'Well, you must understand, the situation is complicated. You can't have had a chance to see the full picture in such a short time-'

'You will show me the rest, then,' Lady Sharrow said bluntly. 'And you'll be doing so shortly. I have sad feeling that it's going to be a depressing picture, though.'

'Well, obviously there are local difficulties-'

Lady Sharrow turned and sat herself down on the edge of the Governor's desk. She picked up a quill pen from one side of the green felt writing area. She threaded the pen through her fingers, looking at it curiously. 'My dear Lord Governor. There are always difficulties. Managing them is the burden that we in power must carry. If there were no difficulties, the Emperor would have no need for our services. You see, my Lord Governor, we have responsibilities. We have religious responsibilities toward the God-Emperor, to ensure that He is appropriately venerated and that His cult is upheld. We also have a secular responsibility, toward the wider commonwealth of Humanity. That responsibility is to ensure the Imperium's security is not imperilled. As, for instance, it would be by a Tyranid victory here on Riothria Minoris.' She turned the quill over in her fingers, then she put it back down on the desk. 'In return for managing these duties, we are granted the power of our offices. Your office, my Lord Governor, is actually technically an Imperial one, not a planetary one. You are ultimately answerable to the Throne and the High Lords on Holy Terra … and of course ourselves, His Most Holy Inquisition. And technically, whatever you may believe, your office is not automatically your right. You hold it as long as you also uphold your responsibilities. So far, tragically, I've seen some evidence that you've been, shall we say, success-challenged?'

' "Success-challenged"?' The Governor swallowed.

'I prefer that term. We must be careful with our language. Gothic is a complex tongue – it's all too easy to create unfortunate implications. Failure is such a loaded word, don't you agree? It's a very final word. In a way, that finality reminds me of another word. Would you care to guess what that may be?'

The Governor swallowed, shaking his head.

She rapped her knuckles on the desk. 'That word would be "death", my Lord Governor.'

Tears were welling up in his eyes. In a weak, shaky voice the Governor said, 'What do you want? Damn you, what do you want from me?'

'You're going to get together all of your advisors – all of your generals. The Space Marine commanders too. Then, with their evidence as testimony, you're going to explain your strategy to me. You're going to show how this situation can be reversed.'

'Umm.'

'What?'

'About that … getting them all together, I mean. There might be a problem.'

'Oh might there? Well, you'd best tell me. I like honesty, you know. I always get it – eventually.'

'The … the Space Marines. The, uh, Ultramarines. They aren't recognising my government.'

Lady Sharrow raised an eyebrow. In a frosty voice, she said, 'Do tell?'

The Governor briefly recounted the saga of the Losers and the splitting of the Astartes force. Lady Sharrow listened. As she did, her face remained expressionless. However, an angry tick started up above one of her eyebrows.

Finally, the Governor was done. His account had mostly consisted of a desperate attempt to paint himself as a completely-innocent victim of Machiavellian politics and duplicitous and sneaky, treacherous, inhuman Astartes. Throughout all of this, Lady Sharrow watched quietly.

'Well,' she said at last, 'as a work of fiction, your tale was fascinating.'

The Governor blinked. 'But-'

'But I had a chat with Brother-Sergeant Kodos here, while we were driving to your palace. He filled me in on the outline of what's happened here. Frankly, in a toss-up between him and you, I'll take the Astartes' testimony anyday. They're almost pathologically honest.

'You see, this is my understanding of the League of Settlements rebellion. You've been lazy, venal and selfish for years. Your corruption is well-known. Your promotion of incompetent bootlickers at the expense of the capable hasn't been missed. When things were going well, your vassal-lords could just about tolerate it. But then the invasion began. Your weak leadership became a direct threat to lives as well as careers. And finally your sins found you out, in the form of the League revolt. And if that wasn't bad enough, you are enough of a revolting toad of a man that you managed to alienate an entire army of Space Marines. Well done. You, sir, have a genius for being useless.'

Tears were streaming down the Governor's face now. His mouth opened and closed. He didn't say anything.

'Get your generals in here,' Lady Sharrow told him. Her voice brooked no dissent. 'Someone needs to take charge. That, I think, will be me.'


	31. Chapter 31 Her Violent Scheme

Captain Lakon walked into the large chamber. He took one look at the assembled generals, the other two Astartes officers and the Inquisitor. He looked closely at the Inquisitor. A puzzled frown crossed his face. He peered at her, as if trying to place her face. He looked for a moment like he was about to ask a question. Then the expression faded. He merely nodded. 'About time,' he said.

Lady Sharrow smiled politely. 'Brother-Captain Lakon, thank you for coming. I apologise for the short notice. I do appreciate that you don't have much time to spare. However, the time will be worth it.' She looked over to the corner where the humbled Governor was lurking. 'I for one don't believe in wasting it.'

Lakon glanced at the Governor. He was sat in a chair in the corner of the audience hall. He looked small and withered. His face was pale. His chair was next to one of the columns along the wall. He seemed to be trying to sink into the grey stone. There was an odour of nervous sweat drifting in from his direction. Lakon glanced away. The captain could see that the man simply didn't matter anymore.

The room's occupants were grouped around a big holotank. It was displaying an interactive map of the planet. Tyranid-dominated areas were shaded in purple. The defenders' area was shaded in green, with a blue segment signifying the breakaway League of Settlements. Lakon looked at the map. The planet's entire southern hemisphere was purple. Ominous tendrils were spreading northwards. Lakon shuddered in revulsion at the purple taint.

He glanced back at Lady Sharrow.

'I have full confidence in the Inquisition not to piss about,' Lakon said.

'Thank you,' Lady Sharrow said.

Lakon joined the men at the display. They had split into two groups. On one side of the tank stood the Guard and PDF commanders. On the other side stood three other Space Marines. Lakon recognised Einar Thorbjornsson. With him stood Captain Bessemer of the Doom Eagles. Lady Sharrow was stood between the two groups. Lakon stood with his fellow Space Marines, as he felt was his place.

Lady Sharrow looked at the holotank. The hologram cast coloured light across her face. 'This is our current situation,' she explained. 'It's not very good.'

One of the generals cleared his throat. 'My Lady, our forces-'

'General Kason, I'm not allocating blame,' Lady Sharrow said. 'There's been enough of that for one day, quite frankly. And anyway, it's fairly obvious where the buck stops.' She shot another quick glare at the Governor.

'Have I missed something?' Lakon asked.

'You missed me chewing out a fool, Brother-Captain,' Lady Sharrow said. 'Subsequent questioning … well, it's clear there was no coherent strategy. The closest thing the Governor had to a plan was smacking up the Losers.'

'I couldn't tolerate such an insult to the dignity of my office,' the Governor said in a quiet voice.

Lady Sharrow's eyebrows twitched but otherwise, she didn't respond to the Governor's comment. 'Anyway, it explains why the Guard and the PDF have made so little headway. Space Marines…' She looked at the Astartes commanders grouped by the table. 'Well, Space Marines are good at looking after themselves. Point them in the right direction, say nothing else and half the time they'll still come back with your foe's head. But the Guard – they need direction. They excel when they've got it, but when there's a leadership vacuum, things fail.'

She tapped some keys. The display changed. Several of the purple regions became pink. 'The pink areas are Tyranid gains in the last month. As you can see, there's a lot of them. The only ray of light is that they're gaining more slowly then they were before you took out the hive centre.' She nodded politely at the marines.

'It hasn't made as much difference as we'd hoped,' Lakon admitted bitterly.

'Here's why,' Lady Sharrow said. She tapped a couple more keys. Some aerial images popped up. They showed terrain features, overlaid with co-ordinate grids. 'Here are some satellite photos taken over the southern hemisphere. Note in particular regions 3A, 4C and 7B. See the structures enclosed inside them? They're identical in layout to the hive centre – except smaller.'

'And there's lots of them,' Thorbjornsson growled. 'The things are foul!'

'Your stroke against the hive centre set the Tyranids back,' Lady Sharrow explained. 'But only long enough for the hive mind to grow lots of little hive centres, instead of one big one.'

'Aerial bombardment?' Bessemer asked.

'Under way,' Lady Sharrow said. 'But we're having trouble accessing the sites by air. They're well-defended.'

'Orbital assets?'

She nodded. 'I've given the fleet standing orders. They're to bombard the sites from orbit, whenever they have a window.'

'But that depends on the ships having a window,' one of the Guard generals pointed out.

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Yes. Exactly. And they're also fairly busy themselves, up there. And that's only going to get worse. I take it you've all received the document I sent, about the two new fleets?'

'Yes,' Lakon said. Other heads nodded in sober agreement.

Lady Sharrow stepped back from the holotank. She put her hands together behind her back. She paced back and forth. Her heels clicked on the stone floor. She exhaled slowly. 'I'm sure you agree. The data speaks for itself. On the way in from the outer system we didn't just sit there. We spent our time running tactical simulations, with the new intelligence. I knew I'd be arriving late. I wanted to hit the ground running when I did.'

Lakon looked interested. This was new – there had been no mention of tactical simulations in the documents he'd been sent. 'You didn't mention this earlier,' he said.

She shook her head. 'No. I didn't. I didn't want the information leaking.'

Bessemer looked angry. 'We don't "leak",' he said. The other marines all looked offended. The Guard commanders looked scared, as if they were half-expecting to be accused of something

'Nor am I suggesting that you do, Brother-Captain. However, electronic communications can – and sometimes do. When you speak over the airwaves, you never quite know who else is listening.'

'Astropathy?' asked Thorbjornsson in a pointed tone.

'Even worse. Take our most important secrets and cast them into the Warp? No thank you. Astropathic communication is an area of last resort. And given the spread of the Shadow, now an ineffective one.'

The Guard leaders dared to breathe again. The Space Marines looked somewhat less furious, although Bessemer was still scowling.

Lady Sharrow stopped pacing. She took a deep breath. 'Okay. The reason I said nothing before is because the news is bad. Based on the information I had when we arrived, two thirds of our war games ended in Imperial defeat.'

'Heresy!' Bessemer barked.

Lady Sharrow rolled her eyes. 'Faith is a powerful thing, Brother-Captain, but don't let it lead you astray. If our inadequacy shames the Emperor, then He will not intervene to save us.'

Thorbjornsson was looking at her. Something stirred in his eyes. 'Based on the information you had … has something changed? Aside from the fleets, I mean.'

She pointed at the map. 'Blue,' she said. 'I didn't know about all the blueness.'

For a moment Lakon wondered what she meant. Then his eyes focused on the inverted triangle of land north of the equator, the inverted triangle that was coloured bright blue. The entire east coast of the northern-hemisphere continent. The League of Settlements. The Losers. The other spreading taint on the map, this one a taint of disunity. The disunity that further threatened the war effort by dividing the Imperial forces and confusing their leadership. The Losers were well-named.

'Part of the reason I was sent,' she said. 'The Sectoral Administratum received a garbled message – something about a split or a secession or some other event.'

'We sent such a message,' Lakon said, 'months ago. We wanted clarification. It wasn't immediately clear whom the lawful authority was. We felt this was a political question, not a military one. We received no response, only an instruction to wait for an arbiter to arrive.'

'And here I am – far behind schedule.' Lady Sharrow sighed. 'This is why I'm sceptical about astropathy. The message we got clearly had suffered in transmission. It was only partly intelligible. '

'The Shadow wasn't that bad then,' Lakon said.

'Hence the fact that any message was received at all,' she replied. 'I doubt any outward traffic would get through now. On the way in, one such attempt killed our astropath.'

Lakon looked at the map. 'So how does this change things?'

'We understood there was trouble. But I think we misunderstood how bad. I thought it was just normal politics – someone in a legislature pointing and shouting. The Governor's incompetence was a bigger issue. We didn't realise that the government had collapsed.'

Sarrack felt a need to speak up. 'It hasn't-'

Lady Sharrow glowered at him. 'What else do you call the blue region? Thirty percent of your remaining land doesn't acknowledge you. Tax receipts are down nineteen percent on what they should be – even allowing for war damage. Industrial production is at forty percent and falling. The road networks are saturated with refugees. And here in Albatross, I understand there was a food riot in the outer city yesterday. You only imagine that your government is functioning because the bed's warm and cozy in your palace. My dear Lord Governor, you are a man of truly limited horizons.'

'And we're stuck with this fool,' Thorbjornsson growled.

'No actually we're not,' Lady Sharrow replied. She pulled a dataslate out of an inside pocket in her coat. 'This, if you care to inspect it, is an Inquisitorial edict, signed by myself this every morning.' She set the slate down on top of the holotank. It clacked as the surfaces connected. 'By order of the Inquisition, I have sacked the Lord Governor from all positions of legislative, executive or judicial responsibility. I intend to organise a new and _effective_ planetary government. In the interim period, I shall personally be assuming all relevant responsibilities.'

Lakon lifted an eyebrow. 'Well that's one way to solve a constitutional crisis.'

'But, of course, this is all meaningless if we can't re-unite the Imperial forces on this world.' She looked back at the blue areas. 'On this basis I'm declaring the supposed Governor of the League of Settlements to be a traitor. His actions are in defiance of lawful authority.'

Sarrack looked up, sudden hope in his eyes. 'Then you agree-'

Lady Sharrow shot him a poisonous glance. 'Don't presume to speak.' He fell silent. 'And anyway, I suspect the new, post-war constitution may result in some changes. Given recent events – well, if the Administratum saw fit to grant this world a republic, I suspect the commons would be most enthused.'

The Governor fell silent, a confused look on his face. He clearly knew that he'd just been threatened, but he wasn't quite bright enough to understand what with. He subsided, quiet and puzzled.

Lady Sharrow looked away. 'The revolt is essentially a personal one – once the leader is gone, the Ultramarines and the Red Hawks will rejoin our side.'

'Are you saure?' Lakon asked cautiously. 'The Red Hawks, yes – they've even still co-ordinated a few operations with us. But the Blueys – uh, the Ultramarines? They can be a bit …difficult.'

'I'm aware of the difficult relationship between them and your chapter.' Lady Sharrow smiled humourlessly. 'I'm not leaving it to chance.' She reached below the holotank. With a grunt, she hauled up a long black cylinder, holding it by the shoulder strap that was attached to it. It looked somewhat like the offspring of a conference poster-tube and the scabbard of a sword. She put it on top of the holotank. Something inside it clunked on impact.

'What's in there?' Lakon asked.

'A bribe,' she replied.

Lakon blinked. 'Excuse me?'

'The Ultramarines are an example of what happens when a Chapter accumulates too much political power,' she replied. 'Guilliman. They trade on his name all the time – even though they don't really have any better claim to it than hundreds of others. If it were anyone else, I'd go over there and give their commander a bollocking. Usually that's all that's needed. Them, however … well, they can be a law unto themselves. The High Lords don't want to be seen to be interfering with such an esteemed Chapter, so Terra's never called them on it. So they've come to think it's their due.' She pointed again at the map. 'Unfortunately this sort of arrogance has consequences. The way they've acted here has been very bad. But I have a feeling that if I said that to them, they might not like it.'

'You said you had a bribe,' Bessemer said. 'What sort of Astartes takes money?'

She patted the tube. 'Oh it's not money. You can't bribe Space Marines with cash – that's the idiot's mistake. But if I told you the tube contains a relic weapon, once wielded by the Primarchs and blessed by the Emperor Himself?'

The room was suddenly very quiet. Everyone was looking at the cylinder.

She nodded. 'Yes. Exactly.'

'But…' Lakon was staring. 'If this – if this is a relic of the Emperor Himself, it should be out there on the battlefield! Not a trinket to be toyed with!'

Lady Sharrow rolled her eyes. 'And that's also what the Ultramarines have said. Repeatedly.'

'Repeatedly?' Bessemer asked.

'They know we have this,' she explained. 'They've had their eyes on it for a while. They think it's the Hammer of Sunset, wielded by Guilliman himself for a time and then later by Chapter Master Marcus Gallienus at the Siege of Orexis.'

'They think?' asked Thorbjornsson. His eyes were narrowed.

She shrugged. 'I said what if the tube held a relic weapon, not that it actually did.'

'What is it, then?' Thorbjornsson asked.

'The thing in the tube? We're actually about ninety percent sure that it's a Thirty-Eighth Millennium forgery. The real Hammer of Sunset vanished sometime in the Five Hundreds, Millennium Thirty-Three. That's partly why we didn't just immediately give this thing to the Ultramarines when we found it.'

'And them?' Bessemer asked. 'Will they believe this - this fraud?'

'They already do. They've been pressuring the Inquisition to hand it over – ever since we found it. Quite why they've latched onto it like this, I have no idea. But in a way, it doesn't matter if it's genuine or not.'

'Doesn't matter?' Bessemer looked like he might explode.

Lady Sharrow regarded him coolly. Was there a hint of a smile playing around her lips? 'There is a theory, Brother-Captain, that _all_ relic weapons are frauds. None, so the theory goes, have any actual intrinsic power. Their power simply emerges from the belief in them – warriors with them fight harder because they think they can't lose. Armies alongside them feel the Emperor is with them. Their morale is unbreakable. Because they believe in the blade, they can face even the worst horrors of this galaxy without losing heart. And yet, the item in question is still only a carefully-shaped piece of metal.'

Bessemer looked like he might choke. 'Heresy!' he gasped. 'Blackest heresy!'

'My dear Brother-Captain, that's becoming a tediously-common refrain from you. For the record, I offer no view as to whether that theory is true. And anyway, even if it was, victory means that the Emperor's will is still served – and surely there's no heresy in that?'

Bessemer suddenly looked confused. His jaw opened and closed. For an absurd moment, his face looked a little like a beached fish. He then fell quiet, looking slightly bewildered.

Thorbjornsson was watching the woman. He was watching her the way a wolf might watch a poisonous snake. 'Your words are clever, my Lady,' he said. His tone implied that it wasn't a compliment.

Lady Sharrow met his gaze. 'I'm aware, my Lord Thorbjornsson, that the Space Wolves don't hold the overly "clever" in high regard. I'm aware that the mighty warriors of Fenris regard "scholar" as a dirty word. However, you've had a taste of the overly stupid.' She gestured at the Governor. 'Was it any more to your liking?'

Thorbjornsson, for his part, clearly wasn't stupid either. Book-learning might not be highly regarded amongst his people but one didn't make it to a Wolf Lordship by being as thick as a stump. Lakon listened in on the exchange with interest. He watched Thorbjornsson's brief pause before answering. The Inquisitor's question was deceptively simple – Lady Sharrow was essentially inviting Thorbjornsson to challenge the authority of the Inquisition. If he dared.

For a moment it looked like the Wolf Lord might. He opened his mouth. Then he visibly thought better of it. 'Your words are clever, my Lady,' he repeated. 'Let us hope that your deeds are as well.'

Lady Sharrow lifted an eyebrow and then inclined her head, ever so slightly. 'Round one to you, my Lord.'

Lakon felt the need for a blunt question. 'So the plan is to have the Loser leader shot, then chuck this fraudulent gimmick at the Blueys and watch them bite?'

Lady Sharrow's face broke into a beaming smile. 'Yes! Exactly! Spot on!'

'The legal issues…' he said. 'Forgive me, my Lady, but I'm still not entirely sure that a bolt to the head can resolve all of them so easily.'

She shrugged. 'The Losers have assembled themselves a so-called meeting of the Estates. Once the head-Loser is dead, I'll have a little chat with their Estates-General. As part of my duties as temporary chief executive, I'll see to the election of a planetary Estates-General. It will be ordered to vote to appoint a new council of ministers. The Losers' legislators can join in as part of that assembly - and exercise a small but real amount of power. Or, I will tell them, they can instead be each declared a traitor to the Imperium and be taken out and shot.' She shrugged again. 'I reckon I can guess which way the vote will go.'

Lakon nodded. 'Okay. I suppose I can buy that. So, this leaves the question of how?'

'Obviously it's going to be a tough operation,' Lady Sharrow said. 'The Loser anti-Governor isn't going to surrender himself without a fight. His palace is on the coast, here.' A yellow light started blinking on the east coast in the hologram. 'It's a long way from our front-lines – beyond the areas the Guard can get to.'

'An Astartes operation, then,' Lakon noted. 'We don't have that problem.'

'I don't think this is suited to the planetary forces, no. A teleporter-strike, however … well, we could land in the grounds, right inside the palace, behind most of their defences. Then it's straight to the anti-Governor's office and Bang! One less traitor. Resistance should crumble after that. If not, we just teleport out.'

'A drop pod strike would work much the same,' Lakon noted carefully.

'Yes but you may have noticed that I was using the plural-collective pronoun,' Lady Sharrow replied. ' "We". I intend to come along. Unfortunately, my body won't react very well to a ten-gravity deceleration. It wouldn't reduce it to jam, of course, but it wouldn't do my heart any good either. Unfortunately I've only got the one, so if it stops I've got a problem. And I won't be able to be any assistance if I'm dead before we even hit the ground, will I?'

'We would have to be clear about the chain of command,' Lakon said, once more in a careful tone. 'Commanders on the ground rarely have time to double-check their decisions. And I suspect Astartes warriors would feel uncomfortable if they were led by someone outside their usual structure.'

'When the shooting happens, I'll stay out of the way, if that's what you mean.' Lady Sharrow lifted the strap of the cylinder. With a grunt, she managed to raise it off the holotank. 'Frankly, I'll be too busy lugging this thing around. It weighs twenty kilos, you know! How anyone thinks these things are practical, I have no idea. I'll have to put it across my back!'

'Will it be … wise to have that to hand?'

'As soon as the anti-Governor realises he's being attacked by Space Marines, we can expect a response from those other Space Marines,' she replied. 'A bribe is no use if you don't have cash in hand.'

Lakon nodded. 'Okay. You will, of course, have to keep up with the marines.'

'I've done this sort of thing before,' she said. 'I'm sure I'll manage.'

'Okay,' Lakon said.

'It leaves only one question,' she said. She looked at each of the three captains in turn. 'Who's going to volunteer a squad?'

'We'll do it,' Lakon said.

* * *

'Of course we'll do it, but why my squad?'

Sometime later, Kodos regarded Lakon from the other side of a rickety table. They were stood in one of the tents of the Storm Ravens' main encampment. The cream-coloured tent-fabric kept rippling in the wind. Overhead were two bulbs, hung from the central support strut. Sounds of the camp beyond leaked in, voices calling, engines rumbling, equipment clanking. The air smelt of mud and rain.

'I need someone I trust on-hand,' Lakon replied. 'Someone with experience. That's you, Brother-Sergeant. And I think your marines are smart enough not to skak up too badly.'

'Thanks,' Kodos said drily. 'It's going to be interesting seeing how Patreus reacts to being an assassin.'

'The Inquisitor will be with you. I'm sure she can put his conscience at rest.'

'That woman,' Kodos remarked. 'There's something about her that makes my blood run cold.'

'You could run a refrigerator off hers,' Lakon said.

'Of course, I almost think we should be doing this the other way round. I mean, hasn't this other Governor done a much more effective job of, well, governing?'

'In a way,' Lakon agreed. 'The rebel certainly has shown more dynamism then Sarrack. Not that it'd be hard. A potato could do a better job.'

'At least it wouldn't open its mouth around its betters,' Kodos agreed.

'Anyway, the point is, Sarrack won't be a problem much longer. She all but told him so at the meeting earlier. She's already basically sacked him from power.'

'Wow,' Kodos remarked.

'She also muttered something about a republic. I don't thing Sarrack's going to like the promised new constitution, somehow.'

here'I'm sure we can bare his suffering with great fortitude.'

'Too true, Brother, too true. I wouldn't be surprised if she's doing it as much to spoil his day as anything else.'

Kodos burst out laughing. A few moments later he succeeded in getting his breath back. 'Now wouldn't that just be a picture! An epochal, socio-political landslide changes this planet's future forever – and all just because the Governor annoyed an Inquisitor.'

'Yes,' Lakon remarked. His tone was sober. 'They have a lot of power. And that can cause problems.'

Instantly Kodos's mood shifted to wariness. 'There's something else, isn't there?'

'Something was bugging me all throughout the strategy meeting,' Lakon said. 'I kept thinking I'd heard her name before somewhere. I thought I was going mad for a while - then I had a look in the records. I was right. I have.'

'Go on?'

'You remember me telling you about the Ikranos trial?'

'That lunatic decision that legalised the Originists?'

'That's the one. Well, she was one of the Inquisitors on the tribunal.'

Kodos stared. 'What?'

Lakon nodded. 'And back home we've had a little Originist problem. And now she suddenly turns up here. We live in a big galaxy. There are lots of other places she could have been. I have my suspicions about this coincidence.'

'That puts things in a different light,' Kodos said.

'The Lady-Inquisitor is up to something. I have a bad feeling we're about to be pulled in. I want you to watch her, Brother-Sergeant. Don't do anything overt – but if she should let anything slip, make a note of it.'

'These people don't let things slip by accident. They hide their schemes inside evasions and lies.'

'Yes, but the fact that she lies tells me something in of itself.' Lakon looked grim. 'I have a feeling that bad news is heading our way. Any warning that we could get could be critical.'

Silence held for a few moments. Finally, Kodos nodded. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'll see what I can do.'


	32. Chapter 32 Regime Change

'This is going to be great,' Nasty gloated. 'I've wanted to get one of these scumbags for so long!' He swung his axe with enthusiasm. It _swoosh_ed through the air in the cabin inside the Thunderhawk.

'I take it you don't like politicians?' Alaster asked dryly.

Nasty swung his blade again. This time he misaimed it slightly. The edges scraped along the wall with a metallic screech. Some grey paint flaked off, leaving a bright score along the panel. Alaster winced at the noise.

'Be careful with that!' Patreus said. 'Try not to hit anyone by mistake, okay?' He paused. 'And anyway, I don't think you should gloat like that.' He sounded almost solemn.

They were in one of the troop compartments aboard the Thunderhawk. Sandrer, Fegust and Eorvan were in another. Kodos and the Inquisitor were up on the flight deck. The compartment housing the Ravens was much like any other onboard the Thunderhawk. It had two metal benches running along each side with acceleration harnesses dangling behind them. The benches were built for Space Marines – that was why the Inquisitor was elsewhere. If she'd tried to use the harnesses on any of these seats, she'd have fallen out.

The narrow compartment was lit by a single fluorescent tube, running overhead. Sighing air vents were positioned in the corners of the room. Alaster could feel the slight movement in the air as a breeze that kept ruffling his face. For now, the three brothers had their helmets off. Alaster's was sat next to him on the bench. He sniffed the air. It smelt faintly of the chemical scrubbers that processed it, like all spacecraft. In the background, they could also hear the distant rumble of the Thunderhawk's engines, muted by the intervening bulk of the ship.

Alaster had been cleaning his chainsword, giving the blade a final check before battle. He paused. The teeth gleamed in the white compartment-light. He looked up, lowering the blade and the cleaning cloth.

'Are you all right, Patreus?' Looking at him, Alaster wasn't so sure that Patreus was. He looked sullen. He had his arms crossed over his chest-eagle, almost like he was hugging it. A lock of his reddish hair drooped down, ignored. Alaster noted it was a bit beyond regulation length. 'Patreus – your hair!'

'What about it? Oh, this.' Answering his own question, Patreus reached up and brushed at the offending lock. He looked disinterested.

Nasty looked amused. 'Better not let Kodos see that. He won't be happy.'

Alaster nodded soberly. Kodos wouldn't be at all. Patreus would get a bollocking – and so would Alaster. Military regulations were serious business. 'Patreus,' he said, 'if you get that in your eye while you're fighting…'

'I know, I know. It could cost me my life.' Patreus almost sounded cynical! No, he really did! Patreus displaying cynicism? Alaster stared. He reassessed the situation. This wasn't like Patreus at all. Something was clearly amiss.

'You were supposed to get it cut earlier,' Alaster reminded him. 'Before we left Albatross. You know, while we were still at the Chapter base there? I thought that's where you went.'

'Well obviously I didn't, did I?'

Nasty stopped swinging his axe. He pulled the strap over his shoulder, hanging it by his side. He looked at Patreus with eyes narrowed. 'Okay, Brother, that sounds like one of my lines. Something's up. Come on - spit it.'

Patreus sighed. He looked frustrated. 'I didn't go to the barber because I was at the shrine.'

'The shrine at the Chapter base?'

'Yes, that shrine. Okay?'

'Doing what at the shrine?' Alaster asked. He was surprised how evasive Patreus was being. He seemed reluctant to talk about it. Unfortunately, Alaster didn't think they had the option just to let it go. Every Raven had to pull his weight in battle, for the sake of his brothers. If Patreus was distracted for whatever reason, well, that wouldn't be good once the shooting started.

'I was praying for our souls,' Patreus said at last.

'Thanks,' Nasty quipped, 'but I reckon it's a bit late for mine.'

'Don't mock the Emperor's justice!' Patreus snapped. Then he abruptly looked miserable.

The Emperor's justice – something clicked in Alaster's head. 'Something's offended your faith, hasn't it? Come on – enough evading. We're your battle-brothers. You shouldn't keep secrets from us.'

For just an instant, Nasty shot Alaster a jaundiced look, as if to say, _I reckon he already is_. Patreus didn't appear to notice. He just carried on staring at the floor, a miserable expression on his face. The engines rumbled quietly in the background.

Finally, Patreus managed to speak. 'We're supposed to be Space Marines,' he said, 'not murderers!'

Nasty cleared his throat. 'Or at least, not anymore.'

Alaster ignored Nasty's attempt at wit, focusing on Patreus. 'It's the mission, isn't it.' He began to realise where this might be going.

Patreus nodded. Looking truly miserable, he said, 'I'm having doubts.'

Nasty gave him a strange look. 'What's there to doubt? It's a simple plan – not much to go wrong. We go to the strike cruiser. We go to the teleporter and it, you know, teleports us. We pop out right in the middle of their base. We kill everything that moves. Then we kill that Loser skakker.' He smacked his fists together for emphasis. The ceramite gauntlets made a loud _crack_ on impact. 'One less dumb bureaucrat. And maybe a few less skak-tard hangers-on.'

'It's that bit I don't like,' Patreus said. 'We're going to have to kill a lot of men who should be on our side.'

Nasty shrugged. 'Moral of the day – don't shoot at Space Marines! That's not murder, it's assisted suicide!' He seemed cheerful about all this. Unlike Patreus, the prospect of going after a politician seemed to fill him with anti-authoritarian glee.

'And then we have to kill a man who can't even fight back. Where's the honour in that? For all I know, he might actually be pious and faithful. I mean, he did pay for that statue of Guilliman.' Patreus didn't look any cheerier.

'That doesn't mean anything,' Nasty snorted. 'Rich skaks love their statues. Just look at that skak-eater Sarrack. Novelty arty-farty things all over the place. It doesn't mean he has any love for them. It's just a way of showing off.' Nasty affected what he clearly thought was an arrogant nobleman's accent. ' "Oooh look at me, I've got all this money and power! Now cower, peasant!" '

'The statue was a political manoeuvre,' Alaster reminded Patreus. 'To get the support of the Ultras. It doesn't tell us anything about the Loser Governor – just that he's a good politician.'

'A corrupt skak, you mean,' Nasty put in.

'Kodos hasn't talked to us about it,' Patreus said. 'I don't think he likes it either.'

That was an awkward one. The sergeant made a point of taking his marines aside before battle, explaining to them why the fight mattered. It was important for morale. The Storm Ravens would never shirk their duties, of course, but it helped when you knew just what you were fighting for. This had been true so far in every engagement the marines had been sent to. Except this one.

Carefully, Alaster said, 'I don't think he has time. He's busy minding the Inquisitor.' He realised he had to find a way to reassure Patreus. It seemed Patreus was worried that he was being asked to commit murder – something that would damn him. Patreus, Alaster realised, was worrying about his soul. 'And anyway, we have our orders.'

'Back at the Ravenholme,' Patreus said in a low voice, 'I swore an oath. To protect the Imperium and its people. I meant it. But it seems like we're randomly murdering them instead. Who will the Inquisitor want dead next week?'

Nasty blinked, then looked worried. This was a good point. The Inquisition wasn't known for its restraint. Alaster thought for a moment before answering. 'We all swore those oaths, Patreus. And we all meant them.' Even Nasty, who was reluctantly nodding. 'We're warriors and we're Storm Ravens. We'd all sooner die then betray the Imperium.' As he said it, Alaster knew it was simply fact. 'I think that's what's worrying you. You feel like you're being ordered to commit treason. But no-one's asking us to do that.'

Patreus looked confused. 'But how? How can any of this be a moral – a _legal_ way of doing things?'

Nasty blinked. 'You must've heard of the Assasinorum?'

Alaster looked at Nasty. 'Possibly he hasn't. I suppose it depends how much news they got at St Thaulins. If the senior monks were too busy bonking to read the paper…' He let the implication hang. 'And anyway, we're Marines, not Assasins. We don't skulk around in the dark, we take our enemies on face to face.'

'Too much sex.' Nasty looked amused. 'I always did wonder why people go to monasteries. Meeting you's been an education, Patreus.'

'I never did any of that,' Patreus said bitterly. 'I tried to stay pure. And look what it got me.'

'Yes,'Alaster said, 'it made you into a Storm Raven. For your perseverance, you've received one of the Imperium's highest honours. You're an Imperial Space Marine now, and you have a right to be proud of your achievements.' Patreus badly needed dragging out of emotional self-flaggellation mode. If that meant stroking his ego – insofar as he had one – then so be it. 'Look, there's only a problem with the Loser-killing if there was any legal basis to what the Losers are doing.'

'Is there?' Patreus asked bluntly.

'Uh,' Alaster replied. He wanted to just say no, but it wasn't actually that simple. He'd done an amount of reading, when he'd had the chance, after their arrival here. The situation was complicated. Also, looking at Patreus, he realised that a straight no might not be enough. He thought quickly. A more honest analysis might be needed. 'Look, it's all a bit confused. For once, Patreus didn't look like he was going to just take something on faith! Of all the times for an introduction to critical thinking… Carefully, Alaster spoke. 'The real basis is politics. No-one really liked Governor Sarrack. He's always been a fool. When things were peaceful and prosperous, well, there was too much to lose by causing trouble. But then he skakked up the war. That all changes. Suddenly his mistakes are costing lives. Hence the Loser rebellion. It's not right, but yes, you can see why they're doing it.'

'You're not convincing me,' Patreus said. 'You're making it sound like they have the moral high ground.'

'Not really, no. Their legal argument is, well, it's a bit weak, to be honest.'

'And that would be?'

Alaster took a deep breath. 'Right. Okay. In the past, this planet had a body called the Estates-General, right? The 'Estates' were the nobility, the clergy and the commoners – everyone else, basically. Each of them sent delegates to the Estates – hence it was the "general" estates because it represented everyone. Well, except poor commoners, I mean. They couldn't vote.'

'So most of them, then,' Nasty put in with audible cynicism.

Patreus nodded. 'So it's like the Assembly back on Delta, you mean?'

'The Estates-General was a bit similar, yes. But nothing like as powerful. It was involved, after a fashion, in legislation. The Governor had to call it if he wanted to raise new taxes, or make new laws. But it could only debate the things the Governor gave it – it wasn't independent like our Assembly is. And the Governor could close it whenever he liked. Estates were called at his pleasure – there weren't regular elections like we have back home. So in practise the Estates was pretty limited. It couldn't really do much. It got less and less important. So about seven hundred years ago, Governor Iylas got the Estates to vote him a new law. It let him legislate without it. After that the Estates-General sort of withered away. Governors still called the Estates occasionally, but it happened less and less often. By the Six Hundreds, they'd pretty much stopped.'

'So what?' Patreus asked.

'Well, it was never technically abolished. And one of its duties was recognising the coronation of a new Governor. But the last time it met was in 619.'

Patreus blinked. 'Then all the Governors since…?'

'There's a line of thought that none of them have ruled with legal authority,' Alaster said. 'That's where the Losers are coming from, legally. But, there's also a counter-argument. You see, there is that law that Governor Iylas got – although it doesn't say whether or not it also covers coronations. But also, there's the planet's treaty with the Administratum.'

'What treaty?' Patreus asked.

'The one the first Governor signed, back when Minoris formally joined the Imperium,' Alaster said. 'That treaty governs relations between this world's government, the Administratum and the Adeptus Mechanicus. And it doesn't require the existence of the Estates-General. It doesn't even mention it. That treaty is with the Emperor's administration – so some argue it is holy and thus supersedes any mere planetary law.'

'I'm still confused,' Patreus said.

'Anyway, the point I'm making is that we can't really tell who the lawful Governor is, based solely on the law. Possibly neither of them. But then the Inquisitor stepped in. She's stated that the Loser is a traitor because his actions have split the armed forces on this world. Therefore he can't be the lawful Governor anymore. And as to how she's done that … well, I guess it just comes down to a question of faith, really. Do we believe, or do we not believe, that the Inquisition works for a higher power?'

Patreus frowned. 'But it was created by the Emperor himself!'

'So the Inquisition says,' Nasty put in. His tone was studiedly-bland.

Alaster shot him a glare, as if to say, _Be careful!_ Nasty's peculiar sort of honesty was an admirable trait, but he didn't seem to quite know when to stop speaking his mind sometimes.

Patreus was deep in thought. 'But if the Inquisition doesn't represent a higher power – then that only makes sense if the higher power doesn't exist!'

Alaster pointed to the chest-eagle on his breastplate. 'And if this symbol means nothing, then who are we fighting for?'

Patreus stared. 'The Emperor, of course!'

'Exactly.' Alaster tapped a finger on his head. 'We _know_ that we fight for the Emperor, don't we? And anyway, there's evidence. There's the geneseed. There's the relics we have of the Primarchs. There's also the fact of the survival of our Chapter, throughout thousands of years of war. It's hard _not_ to see a higher power in that. So, if the Emperor exists – and He must, we've established that – then it follows that the Inquisitor must also serve Him too.'

'Even if she does have a funny way of doing it sometimes,' Nasty put in.

'It wouldn't be consistent if one Imperial institution – us – followed the Emperor and another didn't,' Patreus mused. 'Either we all don't or we all do.'

Actually, Alaster had a tingling feeling that maybe it wasn't quite that simple. He squashed it down inside his mind. Trying to ease Patreus's doubts by pouring his own out wouldn't work. He said, carefully, 'Granted, the Inquisitor has a funny way of doing things. And granted, there may be honest mistakes or unintended consequences – but, like us, she's trying to serve the Emperor's will. And look at the situation here. The Loser-Governor's actions have split the armies on Minoris. That's made the war harder. It's costing lives – in the Guard, the PDF, amongst the Minorian people and even some of our brothers! His actions are self-interested. They're blatantly not part of the Emperor's plan. The sooner he is removed, the fewer innocent deaths there have to be. That's what's at stake. We're not fighting against our oaths, we're upholding them. We'll be protecting the innocent when we take this skakker out. We'll be doing nothing that undermines the Chapter's honour. Or our own.'

Alaster felt a sudden glow of pride at his rhetoric.

Patreus was frowning. Uh-oh. 'What about the Hawks and the Ultramarines?' he said. 'We don't like them – but we don't think they're heretics. They must think they're serving the Emperor's will too?'

For a moment, Alaster felt like a yawning abyss had opened in front of him. He felt like he was tottering on the edge of some deep pit of doubt. At the bottom must lie the horror that was moral relativism … in the past, Alaster had never been the most devout of men. For a moment he had felt his faith, such as it was, shaking. Patreus had just shown him a major logical flaw in his argument. What could possibly resolve this paradox? Then the answer arrived, a blinding flash of clear certainty. 'They've been deceived,' he said. 'The Losers used their pride against them with that statue. They've been tricked. This is needed as much for their sakes as ours – to bring them back into the fold!'

Finally, Patreus looked convinced. 'Okay,' was all he said.

Alaster leaned back with a feeling of relief. He rested his head against his backpack. He exhaled slowly.

'But…' There was a new worried look in Patreus's eyes.

'Oh no,' Nasty grumbled. 'Here we go again.'

'Isn't this the kind of thing that sets people like the Originists off? I mean, what are the people in the League going to think when they find out their lord's dead? They're just going to see those psychopathic Space Marines, running around apparently killing people at random. Isn't that how that sort of doubt gets started?'

Alaster considered the idea. 'I suppose that's a point. But I think what you're really asking is different.'

'Is it?'

'What you're really asking is, what is a Space Marine's actual place? Where do we fit into the Imperium? The way I see it, we exist to serve. We're here to fight the enemies of the Emperor. We're not here to rule – we're not here to make the decisions for everyone else. We could probably force our ways on them all if we wanted. But we don't. And I guess that's the point. The Inquisitor's made her decision, however odd it may seem. She's given the orders, now it's up to us to implement them. Whether she's made the best decision or whether they're even the right ones at all – that's not our decision. That's not our responsibility.' Alaster patted the holster at his waist. 'Our responsibility is to fight – and to win. _That_ is our duty as Space Marines.'

Then, to Alaster's immense surprise, Nasty punched his fist into the air. 'For the Emperor!'

Patreus blinked, then looked somewhat reassured. 'For the Emperor!' he agreed. He sounded happier. There were no buts this time.

'I think I've got a pair of scissors somewhere,' Alaster said, groping at his belt pouches. 'Let's see if we can do something about your hair before Kodos notices!'

***

'I don't trust it,' Nasty announced.

'Well keep quiet about it,' Kodos growled from inside his helmet. The skull on the brow gleamed in the light. 'You're not a Space Wolf – you're not getting away with that one!'

Nonetheless, the teleporter was an intimidating device. Alaster was stood in front of it with the rest of the squad. It consisted of a raised, circular platform. The platform was two feet off the floor of the chamber. It was mounted on a circular, trellis frame. Cables and ducts snaked out from underneath. Coloured lights blinked on and off below it. Some steps led up to the platform itself. On it were several circular plates – Alaster gathered that the teleportees stood on them. Above the platform, something descended from the ceiling. It looked like a crystalline, neon icicle. The inverted conical thing was translucent. Lights glittered inside it, forming shifting patterns. Every now and then, discharges of electricity would crackle across its surface. Alaster found himself gripping his sword and his pistol harder.

Kodos looked at the assembled squad. His metallic eye glittered in the half-dark chamber. He had his helmet under one arm. 'Right,' he said, 'before we go any further – equipment check. Grenades?'

Alaster looked at his belt. He had two frag grenades, hung next to one of his belt pouches. 'Check,' he said. He heard the other marines echo the statement.

'Close-combat weapon?'

Alaster raised his chainsword. 'Check.'

Nasty hefted the axe the Wolves had given him. 'Oh yes!'

'Guns?'

Alaster pulled his bolt pistol out from its holster. 'Check.'

'Spare ammunition?'

A last-minute look in his pouches reassured Alaster that he hadn't somehow magically lost his ammo in the last few minutes. 'Check.' The pre-combat inventory could be tedious sometimes, but it could also literally be a life-saving drill. It was too easy to make a mistake.

'And you're all wearing your helmets,' Kodos said. 'Adequate.' With that limited compliment, he pulled on his own helmet. It hiss-clicked as it engaged to the neck ring underneath.

'How are we doing?' Lady Sharrow was speaking to one of the Tech-Adepts. She didn't look intimidated, Alaster noted. In fact she looked bored. She was dressed in a utilitarian black trench coat. From beneath it emerged what looked like a pair of hiking boots. Tucked into their tops were the legs of a neat, black pair of trousers. She had one weapon, a pistol of some description belted at her waist. Alaster couldn't quite see what it was – the holster was bulky. The protruding grip suggested a bolt pistol but the holster didn't look big enough. Lady Sharrow was unaccompanied. She'd chosen to leave her retinue behind. She had provided no explanation and none had been asked for.

The Tech-Adept bobbed his or her robed shoulders. He – she? – spoke to Lady Sharrow. 'Work is in progress, ma'am.' Around them Tech Priests stood at various cogitator-stations, performing various computational rituals. The teleporter-chamber was large with a high domed ceiling. The icicle-thing distended down from the exact middle of the ceiling. Alaster got the impression that it could retract into the ceiling when it wasn't in use.

Nasty's helmet was looking at the icicle-thing. 'It looks like a mechanical dick,' he said irreverently.

'Brother Shepherd,' Kodos growled, 'I'm sure the machine heard you. Would please stop insulting it – particularly given that we will shortly be entrusting our lives to it?'

'Do you think all the Tech-Priests have one?' Sandrer asked.

'Sandrer!' There was an undertone of stress in Kodos's voice. It seemed the sergeant was distrustful of teleportation too. Frankly, Alaster couldn't blame him.

Fortunately the Tech-Priests and the Inquisitor weren't aware of the exchange. Helmet comms had their uses. The Tech Adepts continued with their rituals. The room was filled with their quiet chatter and the tapping of mechanically-augmented fingers on keyboards. Alongside most of the consoles, votive candles and incense sticks burned in silent propitiation. The air smelt of incense and a whiff of ozone. Alaster overhead some of the Tech-Priests' mutterings. He was reminded of the battle at the gate on gamma, with all this talk about quantum this and quantum that and state vectors and particle-equivalent wavelengths.

An adept looked up. A single lens glowed redly deep in the shadows of the Tech-Priest's hood. 'Warp flux stable at fifty-seven millitheres,' an emotionless voice reported. 'Translocation potential has been attained. The system is ready for use.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Good. May we proceed?' She gestured to the platform.

'Of course. Please keep all limbs inside the circles – or they may get left behind.' The Tech-Priest's voice gave nothing away – was that sarcastic or not? Alaster couldn't tell.

'So much for health and safety,' Sandrer muttered.

'It projects things through the Warp,' Eorvan pointed out. 'That's neither healthy nor safe.'

'Remind me,' Sandrer said, 'just why we're doing this again?'

'Enough chattering,' Kodos said. The Inquisitor was stepping up to the platform. She shifted the long tube. It was hung behind her shoulder. Alaster heard the probably-bogus relic shift inside it. 'Get to your places.'

The Space Marines mounted the platform. Alaster didn't bother with the metal steps, just jumping up. He landed with a clang. A Tech-Priest winced. Feeling slightly guilty, Alaster walked to his teleportation circle. Before stepping onto it he made sure he had his helmet on firmly. It probably wouldn't be much use against the horrors of the Warp, but it had some psychological value. For her part, the Inquisitor was stood there in nothing more than her usual clothes. She looked as impassive as ever.

All of them were now stood in their circles. A Tech-Priest walked to a console and pressed something. Alaster heard a click. Then he felt a reverberation building in the platform below his feet, as if some great beast was stirring fitfully in its sleep. The reverberation built to an audible rumble.

'Translocation in…' the Tech-Priest glanced at his console '…three.' The lights dimmed.

'Two.' The reverberation got louder.

'One.'

The room vanished –

_strangeness_

– and he hit the ground. Or the ground hit him. Startled, Alaster rolled. He felt the impact with the earth, a rough bump along his left side. He heard himself hit the dirt with a dull thud. He rolled into a firing crouch, pistol out in front of him. Targetting graphics swam across his vision. He was surrounded by darkness.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness. In his memory there still floated the nightmarish glimpse of the Warp that he had just received. He did his best to blot it out. He shuddered. Some things it was best for man not to know.

He heard another thud nearby. 'Ow,' Nasty's voice muttered.

'Momentum compensation must be off,' Eorvan's voice remarked. 'It's not usually that rough.'

Another thump. 'Eurgh!' Patreus's revulsion was obvious. 'By all that is holy! That was foul!'

'Okay,' Kodos said, 'everyone check in. Let's make sure we haven't lost anyone. Karo?'

'Here.'

'Patreus, Nasty – I know you're here. Sadly there's no getting rid of you. Sandrer?'

'Here.'

'Fegust?'

'Here. Urgh.'

'Eorvan – I know you're here.' Quietly, on his helmet speakers this time, he said, 'Lady Sharrow? Are you still with us?'

'I'm here,' a voice whispered from Alaster's left. 'That wasn't much fun, was it?'

'No,' Kodos agreed. 'Nasty – next time, think before you're rude to the machine, okay?'

'Message received,' Nasty said, sounding abashed.

'Where are we?' Fegust asked.

'Where we're supposed to be,' Kodos growled.

Alaster had a look around. He was squatted down behind a bush. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the night scene around him. It was dark – he was just another shadow amongst the bushes. Above him he could see the clear night sky through the branches of the trees. Stars glittered here and there, scattered thinly in the blackness. There were fewer of them than he'd been used to on Delta. He'd been led to understand that Minoris's suns were presently positioned higher above the nominal plane of the galaxy. From the planet's northern hemisphere, you were looking out into the void.

'We're in the right hemisphere,' Alaster reported. 'It's dark and there aren't enough stars.'

From the southern hemisphere, the opposite applied; you were looking into the plane. The southern skies were much richer. Of course, the southern hemisphere was also currently controlled by the Nids.

'Oh well that's good news,' Nasty offered sarcastically. 'Nice to know it didn't dump us into the sea.' It seemed his lesson in being polite to machine spirits hadn't lasted very long.

Ignoring Nasty's snarking, Alaster did another quick survey of their surrounds. The bushes extended a little way behind them. Then, abruptly, a sheer wall cleaved out of the round. It ran off to either side and it appeared to be at least twenty feet high. It was built out of brick and looked solid.

Looking in the other direction, the bushes stopped a few feet in front of them. Beyond that was what looked like a flower bed, although it supported few blooms. Alaster supposed the false winter wasn't good for the flowers. Beyond the empty bed was a wide, neat lawn. It was dotted with the occasional ornamental tree, some paths and what looked like a pond off to their right. Beyond that-

'Fantastic,' Lady Sharrow breathed. 'They've put us down in just the right place! That's the inner wall of the palace.'

Indeed it was. The inner keep-cum-mansion of the Loser Governor's fortress-palace was right in front of them. Alaster knew it was a well-defended structure. It was surrounded by no less than three defensive walls, each one successively higher than the last. There were concentric formal gardens in the gaps between them, but each formal garden was built on a slope. Anyone breaking through the outer wall would have to move uphill to assault the next one. Taking the fortress from outside would be an exhausting, dangerous slog.

Of course, no fortress was safe from attackers who could teleport inside its defences. Inside his helmet, Alaster grinned. In one neat swoop, the Ravens had by-passed almost all of the Losers' defences. Now if they'd just had their jump packs, they could have leapt straight to the top. Alaster glanced at the sheer wall behind him. He knew it was just as well they didn't have their jump packs. There were heavy gun emplacements on that wall. In the garden, they were below the arc of fire, but anyone leaping up on a blast of thrusters could expect to get blasted apart pretty quickly.

'It's just like a lobster,' Kodos said, 'hard on the outside, soft and squishy within.'

'Let's get to work,' Lady Sharrow said.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'Team Karo, you work your way round to the left. There should be a servants' entrance over there, if our maps are correct. Team Eorvan, you make your way to the right. Stay in radio contact at all times. Once we're inside we'll be moving up. Each entrance leads to a stairwell. If we take different ones, there's less risk of getting cut off. We have to assume we'll have contacts once we're in the building.'

'What are the terms of engagement, Sergeant?' Alaster asked.

'Don't kill unless you have to,' Kodos replied. 'Remember, only one of the people in that building is our target. The rest of them are just bystanders. The threat level won't be significant – we don't expect anything more then projectile handguns and perhaps the odd lasgun. But if any of them try anything clever – don't let them interfere.'

'Understood,' Alaster acknowledged. He managed not to glance in Patreus's direction.

'I'm sending you all a file with the floor plan,' Kodos informed them. On cue, a map shimmered into view in the corner of Alaster's vision, a green wireframe outline of the building with doors, walls, windows and stairs picked out. Two coloured lines snaked up through it. They both converged at the top of the structure. Instead of being open to the elements, the fortress's roof was enclosed under an armoured greenhouse. It was believed that the Loser governor had an arboretum up there. Apparently he also maintained an apartment within it. The glass was translucent – it had foiled the satellite sensors. Otherwise the Ravens could have just teleported straight into the glasshouse. 'The red and blue lines mark your routes – Karo, yours is marked red, Eorvan yours is blue. I've also designated rally points, in case we need to fall back and regroup. They're the orange diamonds. We shouldn't need them, but you never know. If you find yourself separated from your team and you can't get back in touch, go to one of them.' Several orange diamonds blinked into life, picking out various locations. 'Stay there and we'll come and collect you. They aren't very glamorous – store rooms and suchlike – but one marine should be able to hold these locations for long enough. If you're still there after four hours, you can assume we're all dead.'

'Is that likely?' the Inquisitor asked. She spoke matter-of-factly, without alarm or emotion. From her tone of voice, you could almost think she considered life and death to be equally immaterial.

'No,' Kodos said. 'But it's the ones you don't plan for that'll get you. Right, what else? Oh yes – extraction. I'm carrying a teleport homer. As soon as we've got the job done and we're all together, we port out.'

'What about the Ultras?' Sandrer asked.

'Maybe we won't meet them,' Kodos replied. 'If we do, let's hope they buy the relic. But if they do intervene – I don't like saying this, but make sure they shoot first. If it comes to that. When the inevitable inquiry happens-'

'It won't,' Lady Sharrow put in.

'As I said, when the inquiry happens, I want to make sure we're in the right, not them. Got that? You'd better have. Remember it. What else? Oh yes. Karo, the Inquisitor and I are coming with you.'

Alaster wondered if that might prove a mixed blessing. All he said was, 'Yes Sergeant.'

Kodos's helmet nodded in acknowledgement. It was backlit by the unsteady bluish glow from the vents on his plasma pistol. The long shadows brought out its ceramite scowl.

'Any questions?' Kodos asked. There weren't. 'Then let's go.'

The marines moved out. Through the filters in his helmet, Alaster could smell the earthy scent of the flowerbeds. Somewhere overhead, a lone bird tweeted into the night. The branches above rustled in the breeze.

They moved through the shadows. Soil scrunched quietly under their boots. Alaster had to move cautiously for the first couple of steps – he was so used to the bulky presence of his jump pack that its absence had briefly confused his balance. He kept his eyes on the mansion-keep. It was a tall, blocky structure. It didn't have any windows below the second floor. Alaster noted it did look more like a fortress than a mansion. He wondered how often it had been used as such – how loved were the rulers on Minoris? The grim, blocky building suggested they weren't. He thought briefly of Delta. The Assembly certainly wasn't loved, but its members didn't have to hide from the public inside multiple defensive walls. It had always seemed a natural state of affairs, but he began to wonder if in fact Minoris was more typical of the worlds of the Imperium. Oh well. Yet more evidence of the superiority of Deltan civilisation, he supposed.

Further up the structure were vertical rows of narrow windows. Warm light spilled out from inside them. They were set in arched frames, surrounded by weathered gargoyles. Black lines of guttering ran down the edges of the walls. The windows looked as much like firing-slots as decorative features. Alaster supposed that was probably what they were.

A thought occurred to him. If some crazy person employed a Space Marine to design their mansion, they'd probably end up with something like this. He was briefly amused by the idea.

Alaster glanced behind him. He signalled Patreus to take point, with himself and Nasty to provide covering fire. If they were supposed not to kill too many people, Patreus's martial arts knowledge might come in useful. Unlike most things the Ravens specialised in, the Way of the Leaf looked relatively non-lethal.

The door was ahead of them. It was a simple wood-beam structure, held together with riveted and rusty iron bands. It was recessed into the wall. A narrow line of light spilled out below the bottom of the door.

Alaster gestured to his marines. They slid soundlessly into place on either side of the door. The Inquisitor stepped forward but Kodos put a hand on her shoulder, pausing her. They waited in the shadows by the bushes. Patreus and Nasty were on either side of the door, guns and swords at the ready.

Alaster stepped up to the door, pistol in one hand, sword in the other. He listened. He couldn't hear movement. Carefully, he opened the door. As he did he dropped to a crouch. He leaned forward, balancing himself against the ground with his pistol-holding hand. His head was maybe two feet off the floor. If there was anyone behind the door, they wouldn't expect an attack from knee-height.

The door creaked. Alaster froze.

He heard nothing. Daring to breathe again, he looked round it. It revealed a small vestibule. There was another door on the other side. Next to it an opening led onto the bottom steps of a spiral staircase.

'Karo reporting,' Alaster said quietly into the helmet mike. 'No contacts. Preparing to enter.'

'Proceed,' was all Kodos said.

They filed into the vestibule. They were surrounded by plain grey stone. The small area was lit by two glowing ceiling panels, on either side of the room. With four Ravens and one Inquisitor, the room was crowded. It got even more claustrophobic. Kodos closed the door after them – no point alerting anyone outside to the penetration. A moment later their earphones cracked. 'Eorvan reporting,' the corporal's voice said. 'No contacts here. We're in too.'

'Acknowledged,' Kodos said. 'Let's get up those stairs.'

They set off up the stairs. These too were grey, unornamented stone. The steps were narrow for Alaster's feet. He almost slipped twice. The stairwell was narrow – the Ravens had to proceed in single file. Alaster found himself on point this time. There was no use arguing with it. Ideally he'd like Patreus in front but shuffling around four Space Marines on this narrow stairwell would be a waste of time.

They went up four turns of the spiral without incident. Alaster was able to note each turn as there was a small landing and a door, leading out to each successive level in the massive building. As they were approaching the fourth landing, however, there was a loud creak. It was the sound of rusty hinges protesting.

Alaster was stood with one foot poised over the next step, literally two steps from the door. Suddenly it swung open. A Loser Guardsman stepped through. He had a smouldering cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth and a tired, cynical expression on his face. He was gripping his lasgun in one hand, not paying it any attention. He wasn't wearing a helmet – short, stubbly hair was exposed to the light.

Then he saw the Space Marine.

The fag dropped out of the man's mouth. It fell onto the stone floor with a little puff of smoke. The Guardsman stared for a moment. Then his eyes tracked to the proudly-displayed, lightning-bearing raven on Alaster's shoulder. The man's pupils swelled.

Alaster was equally surprised. It made him hesitate, just long enough.

'Kron!' the Guardsman shouted. 'INTRUDERS! Quick-'

He never got to finish his warning. Alaster's chainsword-holding fist lashed out. He smacked the man over the head with the back of the blade. The Guardsman folded like a sack of potatoes. Alaster caught him and dropped him to the ground.

'Possible compromise,' he reported, vaulting the last two steps.

He stepped into the corridor beyond. Another Guardsman was running down it. This must be Kron, Alaster supposed. At the far end was a closed door and Alaster couldn't see anyone else. Good – this could still be contained.

He noted all of this is in a few instants. In the time it took Alaster's lightning-fast senses to assess the situation, Kron hadn't taken more than a few steps toward him. Alaster took a quick stock of his opponent's equipment – a lasgun, slung carelessly over one shoulder on its strap, a combat knife in a poorly-located sheath that Kron wouldn't be able to grab in time and a packet of cigarettes. Good. The only person Kron was a danger to was himself.

Kron suddenly noticed just what was stood in the doorway. His breath rushed out in a startled gasp. His pupils expanded. His feet skidded on the floor. He tried to halt himself, making a grab for the gun. His fumbling and skidding gave Alaster just the opening he needed.

Alaster stepped forward. He swung out with his chainsword. He slapped Kron around one side of the Guardsman's head. The force of the blow sent the man's legs flying out from under him. He toppled. Alaster grabbed him, so he couldn't make a noisy thud.

The man's eyelids fluttered. Groggy eyes tried to open. He shook his dazed head. 'Wh – wha?'

'Sorry,' Alaster said awkwardly, 'but we can't have you waking up.' He punched Kron surgically in the face.

Kron went back to sleep.

The other marines were spilling into the corridor. Kodos pushed out past Nasty. He took in the scene in a quick glance. 'Okay,' he said, 'we can't leave them on the stairs – someone might find them before we're done. And we're not opening that door.' He nodded to the end of the corridor.

'What about this, Sergeant?' Nasty asked. He pointed to a storage door next to the stairwell.

Kodos nodded. 'Well done Nasty – seems you've just had your token good idea for today. In they go!'

Kron and his unconscious mate were bundled into the store room. They were deposited in an unconscious heap amongst the mops and buckets. The little storage area didn't smell very nice. It wasn't life-threatening, though. The Guardsmen should count themselves lucky, Alaster thought. The alternative would have been to kill them and stash the bodies back outside somewhere.

They closed the door on the cupboard.

'Right,' Kodos said, 'change of plan – we need to move, and fast. Someone'll notice they're missing soon enough. We've got eight more flights to climb yet. We need to make double time.'

They went back to the stairs. The pace was forced this time. The Space Marines were fine, but Alaster could hear Lady Sharrow's breathing. It sounded hard. It echoed in the enclosed space. She was having trouble keeping up. No surprise really, he supposed. He kept waiting for her to ask them to slow down. She didn't. Every now and then, the relic clunked as it slid around in its carry-tube.

They were approaching the final landing when the next hint of trouble emerged. As Alaster approached the last step, he heard a noise. It was faint, half-muffled by the heavy wooden door ahead of him. Human ears would have missed it. He raised a hand to slow the others down. Silently, the marines backed up to the walls, dropping into firing positions.

Alaster walked up to the door. He listened carefully. A few indistinct sounds were coming in. There was what might be breathing. He heard what might be a foot tapping on stone. He heard a couple of metallic clinks and a faint whir. Whatever was there was some way back from the door.

He reached up and rested a hand against it. He looked back to Kodos. The sergeant raised one finger and pointed to the door. He made a circular motion with it. He was telling Alaster to scout out what was ahead. Alaster nodded.

His hand tightened on his chainsword. He took a deep breath inside his helmet. A finger lightly brushed the activation stud for the chainblade. He glanced quickly at his bolt pistol. It was fully loaded.

He stepped aside, out of the line of sight from the door. He leaned over, reaching out to the wood. It was a deep, red-brown. It was marked with dark veins, knots and whorls. Alaster pressed his hand against the door. He could feel the varnished surface of the wood, the sensation transmitted perfectly by his armour's autosensors. His hand was a few inches out from a hinge.

He pushed.

The door swung out, creaking. Alaster jerked his hand back. Light spilled in from the corridor beyond, much brighter then the weaker illumination of the stairwell.

Suddenly the air was rent with sound.

Puffs of debris sprayed from the opposite wall. Dead rounds clanked as the fell to the stone floor. The hail of bullets sprayed off bits of shrapnel in all directions. Alaster felt some ping off his armour. He caught a glimpse of Kodos shoving Lady Sharrow behind him.

Over the hail of bullets Alaster could hear the grinding whir of the gun in the corridor. Clearly the absence of Kron and friend had been noticed – and the worst assumed. Oh well. It was too much to hope that this place would be completely disorganised, Alaster supposed.

He reached down. His hand closed around one of the frag grenades hanging from his belt. He briefly considered tossing it around the door. He decided against it. He wasn't sure what the range of the attackers was. It wouldn't be good to get caught in the blast of his own grenade. If they were too close, they might just throw it back.

A crumpled round pinged by Alaster's foot. He looked at it. By Astartes standards it was small calibre. Not even an explosive. Just an ordinary chemical-powder gun then, he supposed. He looked up at Kodos. He shoved his chainsword under one arm. The hail of bullets had fallen quiet. Alaster pointed at the round by his feet. He then pointed at Patreus and Nasty and waved a finger toward the door. He raised a hand to request permission.

Kodos nodded.

Alaster signalled to Patreus and Nasty. He gripped hold of his sword again. Crouching down, he sprinted out of the door. He heard Nasty and Patreus follow him.

As he dived out he caught a glimpse of three Loser soldiers. They were operating some sort of portable weapons system. A machine gun of some sort, he thought. How crude. It was a mass of boxes mounted on a tripod, with a rotary barrel emerging out the front. A belt feed spread off to one side. His feet hammered into the stone work. He ran forwards.

The closest of the soldiers looked at Alaster, mouth opening. His mates tried to bring the gun around. He fumbled for a side-arm.

He wasn't fast enough. Alaster had taken in the scene in a matter of moments. Tensing his legs, he leapt at the terrified soldier. Alaster slammed straight into him, tackling the man to the ground. He heard something in the soldier go crunch as they hit the stone floor. The man wailed.

Alaster rolled. The ground banged into his left shoulder pad. Ignoring the impact he struggled to his feet. The wounded soldier lay next to him. The man's right shoulder was a mess. The arm stuck out at a strange angle. With his other arm the man was struggling for his gun. Desperately, he raised the revolver. Alaster found himself staring down it.

What an idiot.

Before the man even had time to pull the trigger, Alaster brought up his own bolt pistol. It kicked in his hand. There was a roar. Blood and brains fountained from the man's head. The revolver fell uselessly to the ground. It was a pity, Alaster thought. He hadn't intended to kill the man – but having a gun pulled on him would inevitably trigger a certain response. Oh well. Alaster glanced at the pistol. It lay there on the floor, without purpose. It wouldn't even have dented his armour.

He heard a clinking-grating noise behind him. Turning, he saw the other two had wrestled the machine around. They were about to turn it on him. Blind terror filled the men's eyes. They were sweating with fear – Alaster could smell it off them.

He wasn't afraid. He peered straight down the barrel of the machine gun. Like the revolver, it was meant for use against rioting peasants, not Imperial Space Marines. The momentum of the bullets might be able to knock him over, but they wouldn't penetrate the ceramite.

And there was something else on his side. Or two someones, to be precise.

There was a growl of a chainblade. One of the soldiers looked down in incomprehension. Blood was spurting over his chest. Then Nasty pushed his chainsword down. The soldier was literally cut in half. His top half slid off and fell to the ground. He'd been so focused on Alaster that he hadn't even noticed Nasty slipping in behind him.

The remaining man screamed. He tried to jerk the gun around. It was too little, too late. He hadn't even seen Patreus slip into place behind him. The soldier's death was marked by the brief bang of another bolt pistol. The man spasmed as the bolt ripped his ribcage open. His corpse toppled to the blood-splashed floor.

'We've got them,' Alaster reported.

'Acknowledged,' Kodos replied. 'Secure the area.'

Alaster looked around. They were in another stone corridor. It had a door at the far end, as well as the door to the stairwell. Other than that, it was unfurnished. Alaster gestured to Patreus and Nasty, then to the door. They trotted over, taking up station on either side. Alaster stepped over the corpses, moving over to join them. He took a deep breath. Through his filters, he noted the spreading odour of death. Blood and faeces – the insides of the human body did not smell appealing.

There was a small gap between one of the planks in the door. Alaster peered through. He got an impression of a large space on the other side. He saw some trees in the background. It was well-lit, although he couldn't see the light source. He also saw enemy soldiers.

He looked at Kodos, then pointed at the grenades on his belt. Kodos nodded. Alaster slid the strap for his chainsword back over his shoulder. He needed a hand free for this. The grenades hadn't been useful last time, but this situation looked ideal for them.

Alaster grabbed a frag grenade. He planted his thumb on the button. Gripping it, he kicked the door neatly in the middle. It splintered with a loud crash. A plume of fragments sprayed out. Alaster pushed the activation button down. He hurled the grenade through the hole. He aimed it to the left.

He stepped back, out of sight. Moments later the first bullets hammered through. He was stood up against the wall, next to Nasty. Inside his helmet, he counted to three.

There was a bang outside. He felt a slight vibration in the stone. There were screams, one of which cut off into a liquid gargle. Alaster grabbed his other grenade. He pushed the button and threw it through the hole. He aimed to the right this time. Again he sprang back, counting to three.

There was a distant clink as it hit the ground and skittered forward. He heard someone shout. 'FRAG GREN-'

There was another bang. It was followed by silence.

Alaster looked at Nasty and Patreus. He pointed at the door, then swung a finger to take in the three of them. He raised his pistol. He jerked a finger at the door. The other two nodded, understanding what he meant.

The three Storm Ravens burst through the remains of the door. As they did they unleashed a barrage of shots in all directions, to cover their entrance. Alaster dived into the nearest bit of cover – it was a big stone pot, containing some sort of palm tree. They were inside the arboretum, he realised. Nasty and Patreus had taken up station behind two other oversized plant pots.

Alaster took a quick peek above the rim of the pot. The palms were in a line in front of the wall. Beyond them was a tiled square of open floor. It looked a bit like a sort of posh garden patio. The appearance was heightened by an overturned garden table and some chairs, in the far left corner. Behind them was an area of lawn and an ornamental pond. A fountain rose from the middle of it, streams of falling water tinkling on the pond's surface.

A quick glance up revealed the black-painted steel girders that formed the greenhouse roof. It was high above, at least thirty metres. Alaster couldn't see any stars through the glass panels. That was probably because the area was well-lit – big glow-globes hung suspended on chains from each girder intersection. Despite it being late at night at this longitude, the arboretum was full of light.

It also stank of blood and excrement.

Closer to home, in the middle of the patio, an improvised weapons station had been ripped to shards. Broken metal wreckage from its machine gun lay strewn around. It had been knocked off of its tripod and had fallen apart on contact with the tiles. It seemed the clasps and struts hadn't been secured properly. The mangled remains of Loser soldiers were scattered around the gun's debris. Alaster's two grenades had hit exactly the right places. Just as he'd thought, the survivors of the first explosion had fled in the opposite direction – right into the line for his next throw. He couldn't see any other Loser soldiers.

He looked around again. It seemed there was a tiled pathway running around the walls of the arboretum. It ran off on either side of him. Beyond it, it gave way to soil, decorative plants and trees. The soil beds must be deep. The trees were big – this place had obviously been in operation for some time. The Loser governor must have adopted it from some previous unfortunate. Alaster briefly wondered what had happened to the previous owner. Had it been a willing gift – or had it been extracted by judicial murder? He supposed that controlling the local courts would have its advantages. You could basically do what you damn well liked. He couldn't imagine someone voluntarily giving away a private paradise like this.

He scanned carefully amidst the trees. He couldn't see any movement. 'Karo reporting. Local enemies neutralised.'

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'I'm bringing the Inquisitor through.'

Moments later he walked through the doorway, plasma pistol in hand. Lady Sharrow followed him. She carefully stepped around a puddle of blood. She looked at the pile of mangled soldiers. Her only reaction was a peaked eyebrow. 'You Ravens are certainly efficient … I'll give you that.' She looked at their surroundings. 'Hmm. Aside from the corpses, this is rather pretty.'

'The Loser likes his luxury,' Kodos agreed. 'Hmm. The thermometer says twenty-four degrees. Clearly the impact-winter isn't bothering him much here.'

The sergeant was right. It was warm in here. Alaster called up the readouts on his autosenses. He was tempted to take off his helmet, just to feel the warm air on his face … and possibly a sniper bullet in his brain. He squelched the unprofessional urge.

'I can see why he lives in here,' Lady Sharrow agreed.

Suddenly there was a crackle in Alaster's earphones. 'This is Eorvan,' a familiar voice said over the comm.-net. 'We've got to the arboretum. But we've got some trouble.'

'Eorvan, this is Kodos. What is it?' The sergeant was straight to the point.

'We're pinned near our entrance. They've got an autocannon over here.'

'Great,' Kodos said. 'Okay, we'll be over immediately. Send me your optical feed – show me what's going on.' He paused for a moment, then said, 'A bunker in the bushes. How clever. Well, it looks like it's got a back door – and the gun can't swivel all the way round. So maybe not clever enough. Okay – keep your men in cover. We'll be with you shortly. Kodos out.'

Kodos's helmet scanned his marines. 'I guess you all heard that. Eorvan and the other lads have a bit of trouble. They need a hand. This should be straightforward enough, though. Just bear in mind, they're your squadmates – so no skakking up, okay?'

They made their way straight across the arboretum, unceremoniously pushing through the trees and bushes. They didn't encounter the governor's residence while on route. It must be somewhere else in the vast chamber, Alaster supposed. There was no shortage of room – this was a big place.

A few minutes later the Ravens and the Inquisitor were positioned behind a long line of flowering bushes, near the opposite wall. Just in front of them was the bunker. It was half-hidden amongst some stumpy trees. A flowering vine had been draped over it as further camouflage. Unfortunately for it, the door into it wasn't well-hidden. It was also ajar.

'Amateurs,' Kodos muttered. 'Okay, one of you's going in there. And Karo – it's your lucky day. Fix those Losers. I don't care how you do it, just get it sorted.'

'Yes sergeant.' Alaster tapped his helmet in salute.

He dropped to a crouch, then moved carefully and silently over to the door. Aside from the men in the emplacement, there didn't seem to be any other Loser soldiers near here. The door was just in front of him. He considered throwing a grenade through the door. He decided against it. Alaster suspected he could do this without having to actually kill anyone this time – and they were supposed to be trying to minimise casualties on the other side. The mission parameters were somewhat awkward but he grasped the reasoning. No point making more enemies here then was absolutely necessary. If this operation went to plan, he might be fighting alongside these people next week.

Carefully, Alaster slid a hand around the door. A quick glance at the hinges suggested they were well-oiled.

It opened silently. He slipped into the dark space inside.

In front of him was the autocannon. It was manned by two Loser soldiers. They were both staring intently out of the firing slot in front of them. They showed no reaction as he entered the emplacement. Alaster had to duck - the concrete roof would be low even for a human, let alone a marine.

Beyond the horizontal firing slit Alaster could see the far wall. He could see the wreckage of another door. Near it were patches of bullet-holes, dug deep into the wall. Unlike the silly machine guns they'd seen before, this one could be a problem for Space Marines. He also saw another row of palms in big pots – he knew that Eorvan, Sandrer and Fegust were lurking behind three of those pots.

The soldiers were focused on the pots.

'Did you see the way they moved?' one of them said.

'Yes, Jarek, I saw them move,' the other one sighed with resignation.

'I couldn't believe how fast they were!'

'I just can't believe how easily we've been stung,' the other one sighed. 'So much for fucking security. They said this place could keep out a frigging army, for the Emperor's sake! And look at it. Those marines wander in like they own the place.'

'They say they're ten feet high,' Jarek said.

'That lot must be dwarfs, then,' the other one muttered. 'They weren't an inch over seven and a half – or I'm your mother's sister!'

Jarek clearly wasn't listening. 'They say they can spit acid. And their blood is poison. And-'

An idea had occurred to Alaster. It was too good to miss. He quietly holstered his pistol. With both hands free, he stepped silently forward. He was stood literally an inch behind Jarek. He leaned forward and clamped a hand over each of the two soldiers' mouths.

They both started like they'd been shot.

'And there's one stood behind you,' he said.

Alaster hauled them both up by their faces, pinning them against his shoulder pads. 'Now you two have got a choice,' he told them. 'I've already killed more people then I usually do in a day. I think I've done my quota.' Jarek twitched, clearly terrified. There was an urban myth that Space Marines had a daily kill quota. It was complete rubbish, but even complete rubbish had its uses. 'The point is, you two won't get out of this uninjured – but you don't have to get out of this dead. I can just knock your heads together. It'll put you to sleep for a little while – but don't worry. You'll wake up again.' He paused. 'Or you can be difficult about it. In that case I just wring your necks. So what'll it be? Nod if you'd like the little sleep, not the big one.'

Two heads tried as best they could to nod.

'Okay,' Alaster said. He stepped backward. As he did he jerked both of their heads downward and let go. Alaster had aimed their assisted fall carefully. The two men's skulls cracked against his knee pads. They both slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Alaster surveyed his handiwork. It looked okay. He looked back to the autocannon. Briefly, he removed his helmet. Jarek had been right about one thing. He moved his jaw side to side, masticating. Then he spat on several different bits of the gun. The air was filled with a hiss and a sharp, acidic tang. Alaster watched as his acid spit ate into the metal at several different locations. It took about a minute, but when he was done the autocannon would never fire again.

He looked up at the plant pots beyond. 'You can come out now,' he said. 'It's safe.'

Three Ravens appeared from behind the plant pots.

'That was annoying,' Sandrer remarked. He pointed to a dent on his breastplate. 'That stupid gun's scuffed my eagle!'

The squad formed up outside the gun emplacement. 'Did you meet much resistance on the way up?' Kodos asked Eorvan.

Eorvan shook his head. 'Not really. A couple of local soldiers – no-one important.'

Kodos nodded. 'About the same as us, then. Right, I think we should make a move. The sooner we find this would-be governor fool, the sooner we can leave. Spread out, everyone. We're going to follow the wall around. We should be able to see the Governor's apartment from somewhere in here. I can't imagine it's small.'

The squad fanned out amongst the bushes nearest the wall. It was a compromise between concealment and visibility. Moving through the bushes, the marines would hopefully be able to spot any opponents before they were in turn spotted. The bushes provided some concealment, but not enough to interfere with sight-lines.

They followed the wall some way in. Then, abruptly, they found the Governor's apartment. It was split on over several levels, surrounded by an all-encompassing glass window. Alaster supposed that was there for when the plants were watered. He doubted the Governor would want his nice furniture being sprayed with cold water.

The entire structure emerged from the back wall of the arboretum. Alaster guessed that it had originally been intended as a set of viewing platforms, one for the ground, one for the foliage and one for the canopy. Something about the structure suggested that it had been converted to a private house later on.

Having one entire wall as a window made getting in quite simple. Kodos just walked up to it and punched a hole in the glass. Shards of glass shattered from the surface loudly, tinkling as they cascaded in. A couple of kicks later and there was a Space Marine-sized gap.

'Subtle,' remarked Lady Sharrow.

Kodos shrugged. 'It works. In we go!'

The squad entered. They found themselves in what must be the Governor's reception room. It was enormous. It was centred on a big fireplace. An enormous sofa was separated from it by an expensive-looking rug. Potted plants lined the walls. The sides of the room were hung with paintings. There were several bookcases, stuffed to the brim with ancient-looking tomes.

Looking carefully, Alaster noted that the dust around the books wasn't disturbed. The Loser Governor was apparently bigger on appearances than he was on reading.

'He's not here,' Kodos announced. 'Next room!'

There was a door at the far end of the huge lounge. It was made of a rich, reddish-brown wood. The panels were hand-carved to exquisite quality. The craftsmanship was undermined somewhat by the garish gold-leaf edging that had been applied to the sides of the panels. Power, wealth and good taste, it seemed, were not always synonymous.

Kodos pushed the door open. They squad found themselves in a cavernous atrium. It was dominated at one end by a massive staircase. It swept up from the ground level, the risers escorted by polished marble banisters. A rich red carpet flowed up the steps.

At the bottom, two startled Loser soldiers stared at the Ravens.

'Who are you?' one of them said, raising his rifle.

Lady Sharrow shouldered her way forward. From a pocket she produced her rosette. She brandished it in their startled faces. 'This is Inquisition business,' she barked. 'Your master. Where is he?'

Her manner was commanding. The look in her eyes denied any disobedience. The soldiers showed none. 'Uh – up – upstairs,' one of them stammered, clearly terrified. 'S-second room on the right!'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Good. Now out of our way!'

The two men took one look at the Ravens, then they bolted. Alaster heard the sound of their feet flapping on the heavy carpet. It receded into the distance.

'Up we go,' Lady Sharrow said.

Moments later they were at the indicated room. It turned out to be the master bedroom. The door was shut. No-one answered Lady Sharrow's knock.

She looked at Kodos. 'I don't suppose you'd mind…?'

'Not at all,' the sergeant replied. He kicked the door. His boot crunched into the wood, in the middle of a panel. It splintered and gave way, falling apart. Another kick and the entire door broke open.

Lady Sharrow strode in. She had produced a scroll from somewhere. She gripped it in front of her, like it was a gun. The marines followed her in

There was a big four-poster bed. A fat, balding man emerged from under a mountainous duvet. 'What is the meaning of this?' he spluttered. His face was red with rage.

'Targos Luyfit?' Lady Sharrow demanded.

'That's my Lord Governor to you,' the man growled.

'No it isn't,' Lady Sharrow replied. 'I am Inquisitor Sharrow. And this is a warrant for your execution, traitor.' She threw it onto the bed.

The man stared. His rant had been cut off in mid-flow. His mouth opened and closed. The duvet slumped around his midriff. Alaster couldn't help but notice that the man had a very hairy chest. It wasn't a pretty sight.

'What-' Luyfit began. He never got a chance to finish. From somewhere, Lady Sharrow pulled out a pistol. With a loud crack, she shot him neatly in the middle of the head. Luyfit spasmed. His body fell backwards. A plume of red blood spurted from the hole in his head.

His mouth spasmed one last time. His eyes lost their focus. His head slumped on a pillow, red spilling out around it.

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'There. One problem solved.' She seemed pleased. She clicked the safety onto the pistol and tucked it away. 'There. I guess we can be off.'

Kodos nodded. 'Yes my Lady. It'll help for the purposes of teleportation if we go back to the atrium. There's more space.'

'Okay,' she nodded.

They walked back out onto the landing. Then everything happened at once.

Alaster heard several bangs. They happened in short succession. He felt the floorboard beneath the carpet shake.

'DROP YOUR WEAPONS!' a harsh voice bellowed.

There were shapes around them. It took Alaster's brain an instant to catch up with the scene. Other Space Marines! They were ringed by a loose circle of ten other marines. And these warriors were wearing a familiar shade of blue.

'DROP YOUR WEAPONS!' the voice repeated.

'Fashionably late,' Nasty muttered sarcastically.

Kodos scanned the newly-teleported-in force. 'No,' he said mildly.

Alaster realised the Ultramarines were pointing their bolters at the Ravens. Suddenly he felt uneasy. There was an ugly sense to the air in the room. He realised he was staring straight down one of the barrels. His legs tensed in anticipation, ready to leap to one side. He looked up, straight into the eyelenses of the other Space Marine.

'I will not ask again,' the first voice growled. An Ultramarine stepped forward. His suit was decorated with gilt edging and embellishments. Purity seals were everywhere. The front of his helmet had been sculpted into what was meant to look like an eagle in flight, wings outstretched. Like the panels downstairs, it was suffering from an excess of gilding. The effect was somewhat less than aesthetically-pleasing.

'Why is a bird screwing his face?' Nasty asked. Alaster stared, trying not to laugh.

'Brother Sandy,' Kodos said, 'please shut up. Let those qualified for it do the talking.' To the Ultramarine, he said, 'On what grounds do you make your bizarre demand?'

'In the name of the Emperor,' growled the Ultramarine. He sounded angry. Alaster realised Nasty's remark had riled the man. 'I need no other grounds.'

Kodos affected surprise. 'Well that's odd. We carry our weapons in the name Emperor's name!'

'You are engaging in an unlawful invasion of the Governor's property,' the Ultramarine replied. 'Your presence is uninvited. Your actions flaunt the Emperor's law.'

'Oh do they now.' Kodos's voice was flat. Alaster could just imagine the scowl on his face. The sergeant was not pleased with the insult. Nor were any of the other Ravens. This Ultramarine had all but called them heretics! Alaster could feel the anger seething in his veins. His hand clenched on the grip of his gun. He noticed the other marines shift slightly. Suddenly everyone was poised for violence.

Lady Sharrow chose that moment to intervene. She stepped forward. Perfectly calmly, she cut the Space Marine off in mid-flow. 'Brother-Captain Octavianus – how nice to finally meet you!' To Alaster's disbelief, she beamed. The woman had switched from homicidal implacability to oozing charm. Her ability to flip from one extreme to the other was unnerving. No wonder those soldiers had fled…

Seemingly put off-balance, Captain Octavianus's helmet turned in Lady Sharrow's direction. 'Who are you?' he demanded.

She was holding her rosette. 'Inquisitor-Lady Ariela Sharrow,' she replied. The charm was still there but there was ice in her eyes. 'I speak for the Emperor's law on this planet.'

'If you are who you say you are.'

'You're welcome to check my credentials,' she replied, acidly. She tapped the side of the rosette. 'Here – you should receive the upload immediately.'

For a moment, Octavianus said nothing. Then: 'I see.'

'You should be aware, Brother-Captain, that you are standing in the way of a legal Imperial operation.'

'I was notified of no such.'

'Oh. How surprising. I tried to call you – twice. No-one would speak to me, so I left a message. I can only assume it must have been mislaid?' Malice glittered in her eyes. 'This is the trouble with using hired help, you see. There's nothing like dealing with one's own correspondence by oneself. One is far less likely to miss something that one should know about. We wouldn't be having this terribly awkward scene right now, would we? I am, of course, right to assume that you didn't get my message? I would find it quite shocking if it had been ignored.'

'Clearly there has been a break-down in communication,' Octavianus said. 'In which case, my apologies. The infrastructure on this planet is not what it could be.' He looked toward his marines. 'Lower your weapons,' he said.

The Ultramarines lowered their bolters. The Ravens stepped back a little. The tension in the room noticeably subsided.

Octavianus looked back at Lady Sharrow. 'Since I unfortunately haven't had your message, your Ladyship, may I inquire as to your purpose here?'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Of course. It's simple enough. We came here to execute a traitor. The late Targos Luyfit.'

'The Governor?' Octavianus sounded startled.

'The so-called governor. He granted to himself an office to which had no lawful claim. We really had very little choice. His self-promotion was undermining the authority of the State, you see. A warrant was drawn up by order of the Inquisition yesterday. If you wish to inspect it, there should still be a copy sat on the bed.'

'The bed-?'

'Yes, the one he was in when I shot him. It's upstairs, you know.' Lady Sharrow waved a hand at the stairwell.

'The Governor is dead?' Octavianus sounded incredulous.

'He never was a governor,' Lady Sharrow replied. 'Anyway, talking of which, you and I have something we need to talk about. Can you suggest somewhere where we won't be eavesdropped?'

Octavianus hesitated for a moment. 'There is a room down the corridor.'

'Good. Let's go there immediately.' Lady Sharrow looked at the Ravens. 'If you wouldn't mind waiting until we're back? This shouldn't take long…'

***

'So he took the bait.'

Kodos looked at Lady Sharrow. They were stood in a debriefing room onboard the Ravens' strike crusier. They'd teleported back from the palace about an hour ago. Fans whirred quietly in the background. Grey metal-panelled walls surrounded them. Some pipes ran across the ceiling, part of the ship's sanitation system. They made occasional hydraulic noises. Both of the room's occupants ignored.

Lady Sharrow had returned from her private meeting with Octavianus after about fifteen minutes. When they had returned, he was gripping the hammer, staring at it intently. She and the Ravens had left shortly after that.

Lady Sharrow nodded tiredly. 'Yes. He couldn't get his eyes off it once I pulled it out of the tube. The best hundred crowns ever spent on a market stall on Rosada, I think.'

'So he thinks it's real. Is that what you told him?'

'To be fair, I suppose it might be. It's not wholly impossible. I don't know for a fact that it isn't. All I said was that we couldn't account for the missing period. I didn't lie – not technically, anyway.'

'So Captain Octavianus doesn't have the full facts.'

'Brother-Sergeant, he didn't ask for them.' She sighed. 'It's not my fault if some of the Ultramarines' officers aren't too bright, is it?'

'Was he surprised that the Inquisition was suddenly giving up this prized relic?'

'The Inquisition,' she said, 'is known for being inscrutable. I didn't invite him to speculate on our motives. I just told him it was a gift. In a sense, it was.'

'So are the Blueys back on side?'

She shrugged. 'The bribe's been taken, if that's what you mean. He says they need to read the warrant before they can make any decisions – but that was just stalling. They'll be back with the rest of our forces soon enough. Octavianus just didn't want to make it look like too much of a U-turn. I said as far as we were concerned, we just assumed that they'd been deceived by the anti-Governor. I think we've done enough politicking – everyone has saved some face. They can pretend to be honest warriors, deceived by evil politicians. We get our armies back together. No-one has to say bad words like "scheming" or "self-interest" – at least, not in public.'

One of the pipes near the ceiling moaned as a bubble passed through inside it.

'Rumours will get out,' Kodos observed.

Lady Sharrow shrugged. 'Let them. The deal's done.'

'There'll be people who seize on this sort of thing. Like the Originists. They love these sorts of manoeuvrings – it's all fuel for their conspiracy-fantasies.'

Lady Sharrow looked at Kodos, a shrewd glint in her eyes. 'And talking of plotting, Brother-Sergeant, that was less than subtle. You know I was on the Ikranos panel, don't you?'

Kodos stared at her, then he grimaced. 'Serves me right for thinking I could slip that past you, I suppose. Yes – I do.'

'And you're probably irked by all that,' Lady Sharrow remarked, 'Particularly given the rumours I've heard about Originists on Octalia.'

'We've had a few small difficulties, true.'

'I'd hardly call sabotage, trafficking with xenos and an attempted coup _small_,' she replied.

'Well,' Kodos said, 'it'd be a lot easier to manage if they weren't a legal movement. As it is, the situation is confused.'

'Every situation is always confused. If it wasn't confusing, it wouldn't be a situation in the first place. For the record, I was the dissenting voice on the panel. I argued hard for having them shut down.'

'You did?'

'Yes.'

'We didn't hear anything about that.'

'You wouldn't. The court's verdict has to be unanimous – if we show division, we can't be reflecting the Emperor's will. If different people disagree on the outcome, then it calls into question the whole divine basis of Imperial law. That's why I stood with the panel. This silly little cult aren't worth impugning the dignity of the legal system.'

'Then we're stuck with them,' Kodos growled.

'Not at all,' she replied. 'When the decision was made, all the Originists had done was talk. They'd not actually acted on it. Loose lips are a nuisance, granted, but one has to be careful about over-reactions. If we brought out the big guns every time someone said something stupid – well, the Imperium would run out of population pretty fast. Imbecility is depressingly prevalent in modern society.

'The point is, if the situation has changed, the decision can be reviewed. It's partly why I arranged to be here, at Minoris. I wanted to talk to you – the Ravens, I mean. If I had some evidence of what's been going on, then maybe something could happen…'


	33. Chapter 33 From One Crisis To The Next

**Chapter 33: From One Crisis To The Next**

Kodos and Lakon were stood in a tent, at the centre of the Ravens' main base on Minoris. It was a big tent, full of fold-out tables, screens, maps and people. Voxes were continually chiming. There was a sonic background of people talking on headsets and microphones and papers being shuffled and keyboards tapped. A large holographic globe at the far end of the tent was being continually updated with the war's current status. From Lakon and Kodos's position, the two long lines of tables framed it on either side. Uniformed people kept moving up and down through the aisle between the rows, running various errands. Underneath everything was a hardpacked floor of dirt – this whole area had been a field previously. In the corners of the rooms sat bulky air heaters, their fans whirring. They were struggling to counteract the chilly air outside. Every now and then, a blast of wind would send a gust of cold air in under the tent-flaps. The Chapter serfs sat nearest to the canvas walls would shiver as they worked.

As the company's commander, Lakon had a desk at the front of the operations centre. On the occasion when he was there rather than fighting, Lakon could keep a watchful eye on everyone in the room. 'Welcome to my office, Brother-Sergeant,' he said in an ironic tone, waving a hand at the desk. 'I spend rather more time here then I like.'

Kodos, his helmet hung on his belt, sniffed the air. It smelt of dirt and the tang of the air heaters. There were fainter scents – people, and the slight ozone whiff generated by all the cogitators in the room. There were also traces of hot drinks and pastries. A lot of the serfs ate at their desks rather then take lunch elsewhere. For some, it was pure dedication to their Astartes masters. For others, it was more the fact that the operations centre had heating, however unreliable, and also shelter from the rain. The outside offered neither.

Kodos looked back at Lakon. He snorted. 'Not enough fighting. You'll get fat.'

Lakon laughed. He rapped his knuckles on his breastplate. 'There you go. Hear the pork already!' The tent sides nearby pulsed with a sigh of the wind. The papers on Lakon's desk stirred. The cogitator sat next to them beeped as it quietly put itself into power-saving mode. 'Anyway – more seriously. The assassination. I understand it went off?'

Kodos nodded. 'Yes my Lord. The un-Governor is also now un-alive.'

Lakon reached out and picked up a wad of paper. 'This came through this morning. A new order-of-command. From the Inquisitor. The Ultras and the Hawks are apparently back in the loop. You met the Blueys' commander, I gather. How was he?'

Kodos considered the question. For a moment, his face twitched as he debated the merits of diplomacy. He visibly discarded any such notion. 'Arrogant. I can honestly say, I've never seen so many purity seals in one place. I'm surprised he doesn't trip himself up. He's clearly very impressed with his own faith. Maybe a bit too impressed. I can't say I rated him.'

Lakon dropped the papers back on the desk. They landed with a rustle. 'Octavianus does have a certain reputation,' he agreed. 'Although he is a competent tactician. Did he see sense, in the end?'

'Yes. The Inquisitor cut him down quite nicely.'

'I'm sure she did. Lady Sharrow has a way with words, doesn't she?'

'This order-of-command. Where has she put the Blueys?'

'Not where they wanted to be. I was at the meeting in Albatross, where they were finalising everything. It was quite a sight. Octavianus tried for a re-match with her. He has balls, I'll give him that.'

'Or not, as the case may be,' Kodos noted neutrally.

'Or not,' Lakon agreed. 'He said the Ultras should be in charge, because they're from the First Founding.'

Kodos erupted with a string of swear-words. Several of the nearest Chapter serfs actually looked up from their work. 'I trust her ladyship put that nonsense to bed?'

'Oh yes. With extreme prejudice. She pointed out that the Wolves were a First Founding chapter too – perhaps they should have joint command? Octavianus didn't like that at all. He said she was just victimising the Ultras because they'd been deceived by the false Governor.'

Kodos stared. 'And what was her response?'

'She said – and I quote – "Being easy to deceive does not qualify you for command". Half the room started laughing at that point.'

Kodos smiled. 'Oh, I see. She led him into that, didn't she?'

'Yes. She didn't have to do anything – he cut himself down without any help. And frankly, it serves them right for trying to play politics – again!'

'Do you think that's what all this was about in the first place?'

'I don't have any doubt now. This statue business – in hindsight, I don't think faith ever came into it. I did wonder about it at the time. We'll probably never know for sure – they aren't going to admit it to us. But I think they're miffed that they didn't get put in charge at the start.'

'So that's why they went to the Losers. The League would be so desperate to have any marines on its side that it wouldn't be able to argue … they were the ones giving the orders, not the un-Governor.'

Kodos nodded. 'Yes. That's exactly it. We're fighting the Tyranids here, and of course everyone knows the Ultras turned back Hive Fleet Behemoth at Macragge … so they think they should be running stuff.'

'But didn't they lose Prandium?'

Lakon nodded grimly. 'Oh yes. Of course, the defence of Ultramar gets milked for every drop of propaganda value … you know, bravely fighting to the last breath and all that. But actually, losing one of your own skakking homeworlds is just embarrassing.'

'If we lost Eta or Gamma we'd never hear the end of it.'

'No we wouldn't. Everyone on Delta would be screaming bloody murder – and rightly so.'

'So – this order-of-command. Where are we?'

'The basics are straightforward enough. The Inquisitor, then the Chapter force commanders, then the company commanders, then the Guard and PDF leaders. She's put us above the Guard generals because she thinks a few of them aren't too competent. We aren't to interfere, though – but this way if they skak up we can step in. I don't think she has much faith in Sarrack's appointments.'

'Probably reasonable,' Kodos agreed. 'And the tactical situation?'

Lakon rolled his eyes. 'Look at the map.' He pointed at the globe. A lot of it was red – on this map, that was the enemy's colour. 'Still no improvement. I keep telling myself it's only been two days since re-unification. It'll take a while before the gains start appearing. I mean, they must appear.'

'What if they don't?' Kodos asked quietly.

Lakon's eyes ran over the tent's interior. He looked grim. Lowering his voice, he said, 'I have my suspicions. The Inquisitor … since you got back, she's had that man of hers doing things. Julius – that's his name.'

'Doing things?'

'More tactical simulations, I gather. She hasn't actually told us what's new about these ones. But she seems to think it's important. He actually interrupted the strategy meeting, to give her the results of one.'

'That's brave of him.'

'Yeah. I thought she'd hit the roof. But she just smiled and said thanks.'

'She smiled? Then it must be good news.'

'Hmm.' Lakon rapped his knuckles on the desk. 'I'm not so sure. That smile – it was the sort you make when someone brings you bad news, but you need to be polite. I wasn't reassured. She looked at it briefly, then she said something to him.'

'What was that?'

' "Well failing all else, there is Plan B." '

'Plan B being?'

'She didn't say. I don't think we were meant to hear. She was speaking very quietly. I just don't think she realises quite how good our ears are. But I have a feeling that we might not like Plan B.'

'She keeps her cards close, doesn't she?' Kodos noted.

'That she does,' Lakon agreed. 'She's an enigmatic person. Whenever I think I have a handle on her, she does something surprising.'

'While we were on the way back,' Kodos said, 'I got a chance to talk to her. About the Ikranos thing.'

'Oh?' Lakon lifted an eyebrow. 'She didn't say anything to me about that.'

'It was … enigmatic. Like you say. She claimed that she was the dissenting voice on the court. Apparently they were all hell-bent on finding the scumbag Originists innocent.'

Lakon shook his head. 'No. The court didn't strictly do any such thing. Imperial courts don't find people innocent – that's an important legal principle. A crime has been committed, somebody somewhere is guilty. Just sometimes it's blatantly not the person who happens to be stood in the dock. In that case they stop the proceedings.'

'But you told me they found the Originists an 'acceptable variation'. That sounds like they were saying no crime.'

'Apparently someone in the Ecclesiarchy was hanged. They said he'd made a false accusation against the Originists – there's your crime. Probably there was more to it than that – the Church and the Inquisition don't always get on. The Church is big enough and powerful enough to cause trouble sometimes – and get away with it.'

'So this low-ranking person was hung … because of politics?'

Lakon shrugged. 'Basically, yes. He just ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Opening your mouth around the Inquisition isn't always clever. And maybe he did have impure motives. They don't like it when people try to use them for score-settling. Talking of score-settling … our Lady Sharrow. What did she have to say?'

'Apparently she doesn't like the Originists either. But she didn't want to vote against the court. It'd be irreligious or something.'

Lakon nodded. 'It sounds a dodgy position but it is consistent with the law. The majesty of the judicial system is important – if it gets publicly-tarnished, the peasants might just take matters into their own hands. And there's no knowing where that would end. Carry on.'

There was some noise at the end of the room. Some people were gathering by the globe. They were talking, gesticulating with frantic energy.

'She seems to think the court can be made to reconsider. If new evidence emerges, or something. She claims that's partly why she's here.'

'Oh?'

'It seems she knows something about our little problem back on Delta.'

'Interesting.' Lakon's voice was flat. He glanced toward the holo-globe. More people had gathered there. The noise had rised. He frowned slightly.

Kodos spoke. Lakon's eyes snapped back to the sergeant.

'Yes, very. She implied that part of the reason she came to Minoris was just as an opportunity to talk to us. Anyway, she seems to want our help. I get the impression she'd like nothing better then to go and sniff around on Delta.'

'Does she now.'

'So it would appear. I'm not sure how I feel about this one.'

'Nor am I. I'm not keen on outsiders sticking their beaks into our business. And yet, if the Originists did get banned, it'd simplify things hugely…'

Kodos was looking over his shoulder. 'What's all that about?'

'I think we'd better have a look,' Lakon said. There was a growing commotion at the globe. There was more then a hint of panic in the air. The two Space Marines strode over.

Lakon walked into the mass of chattering people. 'Order!' he barked. The mass fell silent. 'Report! Will somebody tell me what's going on?'

One of the senior serfs thrust his way forward. 'My lord Captain!' he said, saluting distractedly. 'Forgive me but there's news!'

'What sort?' Kodos asked.

The man pointed at the globe. 'At the mountains between us and the Nids. The Menai Gap – it's a high-altitude pass there, down south. It's been cloudy for weeks, so our satellites haven't been able to see beyond it. But there was a gap in the clouds an hour ago.' He reached out and tapped some keys. A square image appeared next to the holo-globe. It showed a sinuous line of mountains running along the middle. North of them was a river valley, with a damn at one end. To the south…

'By the Emperor,' Lakon swore as the image zoomed in. South of the mountains, swarming over the defiled plains beyond, was a sea of Tyranids! 'There must be millions of them!'

The serf nodded. 'Yes, my Lord. We – I mean, we think – I mean, it looks like they're heading for the Gap.'

Lakon stared, his mouth agape. 'Oh skak. If they jump the mountains – the only thing between us and there is some farmland! They'll be at the gates of Albatross in a fortnight!'

'The war'd be over,' Kodos observed.

'Yes, with a skakking loss! Damn it, this ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH.' Lakon smacked his fist into his palm. The gauntlets clanked.

'These images are an hour old?' Kodos asked the serf. The man nodded. Kodos looked at Lakon. 'The Nids won't have got there yet. We can be there in maybe ninety minutes, if we move now.'

Lakon nodded. 'Yes, that's exactly what we're going to do.' He stepped back and raised his voice. 'All right, listen up everyone. We're moving to full deployment alert. Admin Section One, get onto the vehicle pool. I want them on combat alert – we need the Thunderhawks right now! Section Two, raise all the squad commanders. They're to drop whatever else they're doing, unless they're in combat as we speak. Get Thunderhawks out to them – route them straight to the Menai Valley, unless they've got heavy casualties. Section Three, get me a line to Command. I have to speak to the Inquisitor ASAP. Also, Section Three, get the other Astartes commanders too. Cascade this intell out – everyone needs to know about this! If anyone's in bed or on the loo or just can't be arsed, tell them this is Case Radioactive Blue. If that doesn't get them moving then they don't deserve to live!'

All around them, people moved into action. The atmosphere in the room had shifted. There was a sense of urgency now and also maybe just a little fear. Serious voices spoke intensely into headsets and fingers clattered on keyboards.

Lakon grabbed one of the serf-messengers as he walked past. 'You,' he said, 'grab a couple of others and go to my tent. I need my Terminator suit.' The messenger looked startled but bobbed his head in acknowledgement. The man scuttled off.

Kodos looked at Lakon and whistled. 'Terminator armour. When was the last time you wore that?'

'I skakking hate it,' Lakon said distractedly. His eyes kept skimming off of readouts distributed around the holo-globe. He wasn't entirely paying Kodos his attention. 'The undersuit's itchy. And I don't think the machine spirit and I see eye-to-eye. But we need the big guns this time.'

Kodos nodded. 'With your permission, sir, I'll go and round up my squad. It's probably past time to dig them out of whatever trouble they will have got into by now, anyway.'

'Yes, of course – go!'

Kodos saluted, then left the tent at a sprint.


	34. Chapter 34 The First Day

'One minute we're killing one, next minute we're guarding one.' Nasty shuffled from foot to the other. His dark blue ceramite boots scratched on the polished wooden floor. Some dust was scuffed to one side. Alaster noted its presence. Standards were starting to fall at the palace. Doubtless it had Governor Sarrack in fits. Alaster felt a degree of schadenfreude. It was about time that man started to feel the effects of the war! Many of the palace staff had been 'reallocated' to jobs the Inquisitor felt were more important.

'Yes,' Alaster said. 'We did one in, now we're guarding the other.'

He and Nasty were stood on either side of the door to Sarrack's council chamber. Patreus wasn't with them. He was at the chapel, leading the other squad-members in prayer. Apparently he felt that Fegust and Sandrer hadn't been devout enough recently. Alaster figured it was reasonable enough. It kept Patreus busy. He'd seemed okay after they'd returned from the Losers' fortress. Cynically, Alaster had wondered if Patreus's conscience had been eased by the Inquisitor shooting the Loser herself.

Nasty's helmet turned toward the door. Alaster wouldn't be surprised if its scowl matched his face. His posture suggested irritation. 'I wonder what they're doing in there?' he said, shifting his axe a little. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. A floorboard groaned in protest.

Alaster shrugged. 'Politicking, I guess. The Inquisitor needs to beat this lot into acting like a government.'

'How boring,' Nasty said.

Truth be told, Alaster wasn't sure why guarding a door needed Space Marines. There were more important things they could be doing. He suspected it was politics again. Having marines at her beck and call made the Inquisitor look important.

'It feels weird, not having my pack,' Nasty added.

'Yeah, same here.' The corridor was an enclosed space. Neither Raven was wearing his jump pack. It did feel odd. Alaster hadn't liked it at the Loser fortress and he didn't like it here.

Alaster glanced away from him. The door was in the middle of a large, elaborately-decorated corridor. Tapestries and paintings hung from the walls. The corridor had a central aisle, marked out by two rows of fluted columns. They ran from flared cornices at the vaulted ceiling to gilded bases on the floor. On the far side of the room, a row of arched windows looked out over the parkland behind the Governor's palace. They opened onto a sky leaden with gray, watery clouds. Some weak, lemony sunshine was finding its way in through some gaps. The suns kept sliding behind the cumulous. The light would momentarily dip, only to flicker fitfully back.

'These paintings,' Nasty said suddenly. 'They're hideous!'

Alaster blinked at the change of subject. 'What do you mean?'

'Look!' Nasty pointed at one. 'People aren't that colour! They're more glowy!'

Alaster stared. Nasty was pointing at an oil painting of a half-dressed lady reclining on a couch. She was pictured eating an apple. The whole piece had an uncomfortably-suggestive feel to it. Alaster frowned. Nasty was right – it did look wrong. He tried to ignore the targeting graphics that kept swimming over it. The outlines and the figure looked fine but something was definitely off. He blinked as he realised what it was.

'It's the colours,' he said. 'The colours are wrong.'

Nasty's helmet scanned around the walls. 'They all look wrong,' he said. 'Even the landscapes.'

He was right. They did. 'I wonder…' Alaster mused. Then the obvious hit him. 'Of course! The people who did them can't see in the infra-red! That's why they look wrong to us! They probably look fine to everyone else.'

'Great. So we can't even enjoy art, can we? This sucks.' Nasty turned his attention back to his blade, raising it up to inspect the edge. The light gleamed on it.

'Since when did you care about art?'

'I don't.'

'Then what's got into you? First Patreus goes all cranky, now you. Come on – spit it.'

Nasty sighed. 'The fight,' he said, lowering his axe. 'I didn't enjoy it. I thought skakking up that bastard would be great – but it kind of wasn't.'

'There wasn't much resistance,' Alaster agreed. 'Or at least, not much effective resistance.'

'I felt a bit like Patreus,' Nasty admitted. 'It just felt like murder. It wasn't like fighting xenos. They couldn't really defend themselves against us.'

Alaster nodded. 'Normal soldiers don't have much chance against Marines.'

'And taking down their boss…' Nasty sighed. 'I thought I'd love it but I didn't. He was just a helpless man in a bed.'

'And also one who's caused a lot of trouble,' Alaster reminded him. Then something occurred to him. 'Hang on – since when were you bothered about murder?'

Nasty shrugged. 'I didn't used to be. At least, not much. But … I don't know. When I was in the gang, I guess we all needed to, you know, show off. We needed to know we were the biggest, most dangerous people around. Only now that we're Space Marines – we _are_ the most dangerous! And no-one's arguing. I just don't feel like I have to prove it anymore. I can kick arse whenever I need to, as much as I like. So I don't feel like I have to all the time. Beating people up for its own sake just doesn't feel worth it anymore. It's not a good enough reason. I can beat up any skakker I like – so there's just no point punching up the ones who can't punch back. It almost feels … unfair.'

Alaster started laughing.

'Hey – what are you laughing at?'

Alaster managed to catch his breath between chuckles. 'Nasty – whoever would have thought? Nasty's developing a sense of duty!'

'Oh.' Nasty was silent for a minute. 'Maybe I am. Skak.'

'You've spent too much time hanging round with us Ravens,' Alaster told him. 'You've been infected.'

'Skak,' Nasty repeated. He didn't sound entirely pleased.

'It could be worse,' Alaster said in a tone of false sympathy. 'At least you got a nice axe out of the deal.'

Nasty turned it over in his gauntlets, admiring the shine of the blade. 'True,' he conceded.

'There's lots of people who don't have an axe that shiny. Or any axe at all.'

'True,' Nasty reluctantly agreed. 'I wonder how they manage?'

'You won't miss what you've never had,' Alaster pointed out, in a faux-reasonable tone.

A pop of displaced air interrupted their banter. The floorboards groaned in abrupt protest. A shadow fell across the floor. There was a figure, in silhouette against a window, where moments before there had been no-one!

Alaster relaxed out of the instinctive fighting crouch as he recognised Kodos. 'Sergeant! What are you doing here?' The pop-sound had been Kodos teleporting in, Alaster realised.

Kodos's eye lenses glared at Alaster. In one hand the sergeant was holding his plasma pistol. Bluish light played unsteadily inside the cooling coils on the side. A heathaze drifted up from them. 'What am I doing? Rounding you layabouts up, that's what. Where's Patreus?' In his other hand Kodos was holding a teleport homer.

Alaster abruptly felt a shrill of alarm. To drop in like this implied something was seriously wrong. 'What's going on?'

'Major crisis,' Kodos replied grimly. 'Where's Patreus and the others?'

'The chapel. Praying.'

Kodos let rip a string of expletives. After a moment he paused for breath. 'Of all the skakking times!' Then there was a crackle of static and Alaster heard Kodos's voice over his earphones. 'Brother Patreus! Get back here immediately!'

There was a pause then a startled-sounding Patreus spoke. 'Sergeant? We're just in the middle of the Nineteenth Benediction!'

'Well it can skakking well wait, can't it?' With a slightly gentler tone, Kodos added, 'It'll be just as benedictory when it's said over a mound of dead Nids, won't it? Now get your arse over – we need to be out of here ASAP.'

It seemed Patreus caught the idea that something was up. 'Yes Sergeant. We'll get over.'

The chapel wasn't far. They heard the other brothers' boots on the boards before they saw them. Patreus, Eorvan, Sandrer and Fegust came into view at the far end of the hall. Moments later, they were stood with the others. Alaster was relieved to see that no-one had forgotten their bolt pistol or anything else equally stupid.

'What's going on?' Eorvan asked.

'A major Nid incursion,' Kodos said. 'Down south. The Menai Gap.'

Eorvan was silent for a second. Then, calmly and professionally, he asked, 'Do we have any assets down there?'

Kodos lifted the teleport homer. 'We will in a few moments.'

'Site-to-site jump?' Eorvan asked.

'The very same,' Kodos agreed. 'Gather round, marines!'

This was where it got difficult. They had to stand in a circle around the homer. It needed to be got right, or the results could be messy. Teleporters were useful but they had some serious drawbacks. Kodos put it in the middle. The marines formed a circle around it.

'Uh, what about the Inquisitor?' Nasty asked suddenly.

'She's being told,' Kodos snapped. 'She'll understand. Now shut up – I need to send the co-ordinates!'

They were silent for a few moments. Then a light on top of the teleport homer began blinking. Inside his helmet, Alaster counted down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One…

The hall blinked out.

Suddenly they were stood in a circle on a hillside. Watery sunshine played through the patchy cloud above. Long grass rippled in the wind. Before them was a river valley, running east to west. In the distance, to the east, Alaster could see what looked like a dam. Beyond the valley, on the far side, the hills rose again. They rose much higher, losing their coverage of grass and rising into jagged peaks. The tops were dusted with snow. Cloud streamed between them.

Alaster realised he could see the Gap. There was only one thing it could be – a deep V-shaped notch in the jagged mountains, reaching almost down to the grass-line. It must be at least five clicks away, he estimated. Some low cloud was streaming through it, softening the outlines of the jagged peaks around it.

'Are we all here?' Kodos checked them over. No-one was missing. 'Good. Reinforcements are on their way. The other marines will be arriving shortly. For the Guard, best guess is tomorrow. Some of them, anyway.'

'What?' Nasty sounded incredulous. 'How come? That's ages!'

'Did they forget to set their alarm clock?' Fegust asked.

Kodos sighed. 'Brothers, it's the Guard. Don't set your expectations too high. You have to be realistic.' With a biting burst of sarcasm, he added, 'They are only human after all.'

'As they always remind us,' Eorvan put in.

'They won't all be here until four days,' Kodos added.

'Four days!' Nasty exclaimed.

'Count 'em,' Kodos agreed. 'One, two, three, four. Probably it's how long they need to remember where they left their guns.'

There was an amount of sarcastic laughter at that one.

Alaster felt a little different. He thought of their battle at the hive centre. The Tyranids had been problematic even for the Ravens. It contrasted with their experience at the Losers' stronghold. The human soldiers there had been much easier to deal with. If the Tyranids were difficult for Space Marines, he wondered how the average Imperial Guardsman must find them. Next to impossible, he supposed. Alaster suspected that Kodos probably did respect the Guard more then his words suggested. The sergeant was probably just frustrated by the delay in re-deploying forces.

'What's the plan?' Fegust asked.

'The situation's simple enough,' Kodos replied. 'If the Tyranids jump the Gap then everything we've done will be for nothing. The plains can't be held, not with our current strength here. Obviously that's not acceptable. Our job here is to hold them up.'

'Hold them up?' Sandrer spoke. 'Is that all?'

'Is that all, he asks,' Kodos replied sarcastically. 'We hold them up. Air strikes and artillery thin them out. If we can keep them all in one place, we can cut them down to size. When that's done we move in and exterminate the survivors.' He gestured to the Gap. 'In the meantime, that needs holding'

'How long do we need to hold it for?' Alaster asked.

'Today it's just us and our brother Space Marines,' Kodos replied grimly. 'The Guard aren't due to start showing up until tomorrow morning, as I said. But they won't all be in place for four days. Major re-deployments take time.'

'Four days?' Nasty asked. 'That's ages!' The marines all knew what the sergeant was really saying. They had four days of non-stop fighting ahead of them. Alaster's hand tightened on the grip of his chainsword.

The wind moaned through the grass.

'We're staying here,' Kodos said, 'until the Nids are dead – or we are! That's plenty of time.'

A sober air settled over the Ravens. They had all sworn an oath to put the good of the Imperium before their lives – it seemed there was a chance it might get called soon. Alaster wasn't afraid but the notion still made for an uneasy thought. He shifted from one foot to the other. The weight of the weapons in his hands felt reassuring. He could feel the trigger of his bolt pistol, under his finger resting against it.

'What do we now, Sergeant?' Alaster asked. There was no point worrying about maybes or what-ifs – they had a job to do. Orders were orders.

'The Gap needs scouting,' Kodos said. 'We're here first – so guess who'll be doing that?'

'Uh, Sergeant?' Nasty asked.

'What?' Kodos demanded.

'Jump packs?'

Kodos was silent for just a moment. Then he let rip a string of fresh expletives. Alaster was impressed by his linguistic inventiveness. He didn't repeat himself once. 'Okay – just whose dumb idea was that?'

'Uh, the Inquisitor's,' Alaster put in, feeling awkward.

'Was it now,' Kodos said. 'I think someone needs to have words with Lady Sharrow. She's sticking her beak where it doesn't belong. Luckily, there may be a way round this.' He picked up the teleport homer and tapped something into it. Then he put it back. He stood there for a moment, communicating with the ships above, Alaster supposed. 'Right. Stand back, everyone.'

Alaster couldn't help a superstitious shiver when he looked at the teleport homer. He didn't take much urging to stand back. A quite minute passed. The grass rustled in the wind. Clouds scudded overhead. Somewhere out on the hillside, something chirped. Then, suddenly, there was a loud, repeating pop. The homer was suddenly surrounded by several jump packs, sat on the grass.

'There were spares on the cruiser,' Kodos explained. 'Get loaded up, Brothers.'

A few minutes later, Alaster had the familiar bulk of a jump pack behind his shoulders. He had to lean forward a little – the mass of the thruster assembly shifted his body's centre of gravity backward. The first time Alaster had worn a jump pack, during training, he'd fallen over. It had been an embarrassing lesson. This pack wasn't his usual one, but it seemed to interface smoothly with his suit's systems. Flight displays appeared in front of his eyes. Everything seemed okay. He checked for instrument faults and saw no alerts.

'I'm ready,' he reported. 'Patreus, Nasty?'

'Ready,' Patreus reported eagerly.

'Yeah, I'm with it,' Nasty conceded.

Eorvan's fireteam checked in.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'Some good news, lads. The other Ravens are on their way. And just after them are our allies – in an hour's time, this place is going to be crawling with marines. But we're getting something they won't.'

'First blood,' Eorvan said.

'Let's get this right,' Kodos said. 'Let's make sure it's the Nid's.' He pulled out an auspex from a belt pouch. His fingers clacked on it as he tapped something in. 'Okay. I'm sending you your search regions. Technically that's what we're doing – patrolling the gap. If we're to set up a cordon, we need to know where the Nids are. Make a note of any pockets you meet. Kill them if you can. But if they outnumber you, don't take them on immediately. Call me and we'll take them down with both teams together. I'm going to move back and forth between teams. Eorvan, Karo, I want you to check in every fifteen minutes, starting from my mark. If we miss a check-in, I'll be assuming something bad's happened. The Gap is three clicks wide – we won't be in eye contact all the time.

'We've not actually got that much to do. All we need to do is harry the bugs for ninety minutes. After that, we should have the other brothers with us, and we can start cleansing this place properly. Our objectives for the moment are just scouting and harassment. Now, any questions?'

'No Sergeant,' Eorvan said.

'No Sergeant,' Alaster echoed.

'Good,' Kodos said. 'Set your clocks for check-in on my mark.' He paused a moment. 'Mark.' Alaster noted the time. 'Engage jump packs. Let's bring the storm, Brothers.'

The thrusters over his shoulders roared to life. Alaster was titled forward as he was catapulted upwards. The ground fell away. His stomach spasmed at the

jerk. He swallowed hard, clenching down on the sensation. He caught a glimpse of the grass swirling madly in the downdraft from his jets. He heard the growl of his squad-mates' jump packs. The seven Assault Marines had taken to the sky.

Alaster angled himself forward, tipping his torso down and his legs up. Some of the thrust was directed behind him now, as well as upwards. Watching the readouts on his displays, he throttled the vertical component down a little – enough to maintain altitude, but not to rise any further. 'Everyone okay?' he asked his fireteam.

Down below, the shiny ribbon of the river was approaching them. The grassy hillside was fast falling away. Clouds scudded through the sky overhead. The three marines were flying in a V formation, with Alaster on point. Patreus was to his right, Nasty the left. Eorvan's team were pulling away to the east. Kodos was somewhere between them both.

'I'm fine,' Patreus reported.

'I'm okay,' Nasty said.

One of Alaster's displays showed his fireteam. Nasty was still rising, he noticed. 'Nasty – cut the thrust a bit. You're above formation height.'

'Oh.' Nasty sounded embarrassed. 'Skak.' He dropped down, back into place.

'Don't forget, this isn't Delta,' Alaster reminded them. 'Gravity's point nine-seven of what we're used to.' In fact, they'd been here long enough that Nasty shouldn't be making that mistake by now. Alaster was annoyed but mid-air wasn't the right place to chew Nasty out. 'It doesn't sound like much, but that three percent makes a difference. Just watch it, okay?'

'Noted, Alaster,' Patreus said.

'Uh, yeah,' Nasty said. 'Skak – this flying crap's complicated! When do we get to the hitting-stuff bit?'

''Bout the same time we get over there, I reckon,' Alaster said, nodding toward the Gap. The river was passing below them now. Above them, a cloud moved. Double sunlight poured out. There was a brief flash of sunlight on the water then they passed over the river's banks. Their shadows, tiny from this height, swept up onto the grass on the side.

Alaster noticed he was dropping slightly – he'd lost a couple of feet of altitude. He realised he had his feet in slightly the wrong position. You had to hold your legs at just the right angle, so your body could generate a small amount of lift. If you wanted to slow yourself down, just drop your feet to hang at the end of your legs. They'd develop some extra drag. Alaster had done exactly that while distracted. Through the autosenses, he could feel the cold air sliding over his boots.

He jerked his feet upwards. The downward drift ceased.

He looked down toward the grass below. He caught a glimpse of his shadow again, travelling over the vegetation. He could feel the air, flowing over his helmet. He had to keep his head facing down, parallel to the direction of flight. It was that or risk wrenching his neck. The thrusters were slamming him into the air at a phenomenal speed. Flying was a complicated business. It was no wonder they didn't give jump packs to the Imperial Guard – Alaster briefly amused himself with the mental image of a panicky Guardsman coming unstuck.

The land was rising up below them. The grass was giving way to greyish, basaltic rocks. Here and there a few streams twinkled in the sunlight. Meltwater run-off, descending from the peaks along the south side of the valley. Alaster caught a glimpse of some local animal, startled by the racing shadows. It vanished into cover almost as soon as he saw it.

His displays informed him that the Gap was approaching.

'Get ready for descent phase, Brothers,' Alaster told the other two.

'Acknowledged, Brother,' Patreus said.

'Uh, okay,' Nasty put in.

They were level with the edge of the Gap and fast approaching. The hillside's slope abruptly stopped, levelling out into an abrupt flatness. The landscape of the Gap was a mixture of high-altitude lichens, mosses and tumbled, jagged rocks. It was wide, extending at least a mile back. Here and there, Alaster could see little meltwater tarns, catching the sunlight like the river had done. Not far above, dense streamers of cloud were moving in between the two greyish peaks on either side. It looked like it would soon be foggy in the Gap.

Alaster's shadow was rising up to meet him. Moments later, it slid over the rocks of the Gap itself. The ground was only a couple of metres down now. Alaster dialled down the thrusters, slowing even more.

'Okay – moving to land,' he informed the others. He dropped his legs downward. The thrusters swung underneath him. Gripping his bolt pistol and his chainsword, he sank toward the ground.

He cut off the thrusters a few inches above the rocky soil. He landed, flexing his knees on impact. The ground-up rock below him scrunched softly on impact.

With quiet hisses of gravel, Nasty and Patreus landed on either side of him. They were spread out, Nasty eleven metres to Alaster's left, Patreus twelve metres away on his right. Good. If a grenade were to come whistling out of the air, it couldn't get more than one of them.

Alaster looked around. It was mistier at ground level then he'd realised. Ahead were a big heap of rocks, rubble from the mountains, he supposed. In the lea of the mound a single remarkably-persistent tree was growing. Presumably the microclimate around the rocks was that little bit warmer, just enough for it to live at this altitude. It didn't look healthy, though. It seemed scrawny, almost tired somehow. Its leaves drooped down, laden with condensation. As Alaster watched, a droplet fell. It splashed into a small puddle near the tree's base. The big rock behind the tree was splattered with greenish-yellow lichen.

The wind whistled around them.

'Lonely place,' Patreus remarked.

It was true. Alaster could see no signs of human presence here. He looked beyond Patreus. There was a small pond about twenty metres beyond him. That looked like it could be worth scouting – anything going past here might be tempted to stop there for a drink.

The wind moaned around them. Alaster could see some mist, drifting into the gap. 'Okay,' he said. 'Look sharp, everyone. Keep an eye out for Nids. I'm going to get to the top of that mound and have a look from there. Patreus, keep an eye on that pond.' He pointed. Patreus saw it and nodded.

Alaster looked beyond Nasty. Behind him was a boulder field, with some large rocks. 'Nasty, scout that boulder field. Don't go in too far, but watch it for movement. It looks like ambush territory.'

Nasty nodded. 'Okay.'

'Right Brothers, let's get to work. Patreus, Nasty, I also want you to keep an eye on each other. Don't go out of line-of-sight. I'll be back shortly.'

'Acknowledged,' Patreus said.

With a grumble of thrust, Alaster relit his thrusters. This time it was just a parabolic leap, up and then down again. His feet landed with a faint scraping sound on top of the mound. Colourful lichens stained the rock around him. The scrawny tree was just behind him. Alaster scanned the scene around him.

He didn't even see the Lictor.

Just for an instant, Alaster saw something pinkish. It shot into his sight. Before he could react, he was jerked forward. There was a scraping sound. He went head over heels. The ground disappeared. He caught a glimpse of one of the flesh-hooks. The keratinous barb had wedged itself under one of his shoulder pads.

He flailed at it with his chainsword. The world spun around him. He caught a glimpse of the mound, disappearing behind him.

The chainsword growled. The blade caught something. There was a tear and a snap. Alaster spun to the side. The remaining flesh hook caught on his blade. It broke. A spurt of ichor splashed across his face.

Alaster slammed into the ground.

Rock and gravel crunched under his shoulder pad. He was spun over. He hit the ground a second time. Small stones sprayed out.

A shadow fell over him. The Lictor looked down. Maddened alien eyes glared at him. Two massive talons loomed behind its head. Ichor dripped from the severed tendrils. A drip splashed down next to him. The thing's mouth opened, revealing savage fangs. It growled with a quiet but menacing sound.

Alaster gathered his scattered wits. He felt a surge of anger – how dare this thing growl at him? It looked poised to strike. He realised he only had moments. Even as the thing's jaw parted, he kicked himself frantically to one side. Alaster rolled again, with a fresh rattle of gravel. He raised his hand to fire the bolt pistol-

It was lying on the ground, nearly a metre away.

He felt his stomach drop. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He'd dropped his gun. Chagrin mixed with rage. His chainsword was over there too. Alaster had to think fast. There wasn't time for a dash to them – he'd have to get to his feet. That would mean taking his eyes off of the alien. The moment he did would be the moment he died.

Muscles bunched visibly under the xeno's thick hide. A pointed tongue hissed out of its mouth. With a satisfied growl, it sprang at him. There was no more time to spare.

Inspiration came to Alaster like a flash. He rolled over. Even as the shadow expanded on the ground around him, he sent a frantic signal through his black carapace. As he lay face down on the ground, a hammerblow of force slammed him forward. His ears were filled by a roar.

Even above the roar, he heard the Lictor's sudden howl of agony. It had found itself straight in the path of the thruster-jets on his jump pack.

Alaster only let the thrusters run a moment. It wasn't safe this close to the ground – if a stone got sucked into the intakes, they could be damaged. As soon as the jets went quiet he sprang to his feet.

He leapt over to where the bolt pistol lay.

Gravel hissed once more as the Space Marine hit the ground. This time, though, he grabbed up his pistol on the way down. Alaster turned the impact into a roll. He came up into a firing crouch.

The Lictor was staggering around, a short distance back. A chuck of its face had been flared off. Even through his filters, Alaster could smell the burnt meat. The thing was in agony. It staggered backwards, thrashing blindly around. He could see alien bone, exposed at the bottom of the deep wound. The flesh had been roasted clean off.

Alaster sighted on it and fired off a shot to the thorax. The gun boomed. Chitin crunched and ichor spurted. The xeno staggered. Alaster double-tapped it in the head.

The Lictor toppled to the ground, dead.

'Skak,' Alaster muttered. He looked around. There was his chainsword. He grabbed it up, quickly putting his thumb on the activation stud.

'This is Karo,' he said into his helmet mike. 'We've had a contact. One dead Lictor.'

'Received,' he heard Kodos say. 'Any casualties?'

'No Sergeant.' Except for Alaster's pride, of course.

'Where are you?'

Alaster glanced quickly over his shoulder and at the small map in the corner of his vision. 'Near Hill One.' He meant the mound. 'Ten metres south.'

There was a crackle of static under the sergeant's voice. 'Any sign of company?'

For a confused instant, Alaster thought he meant Nasty and Patreus. Then his brain caught up. 'Uh, no, Sergeant.'

'Well watch out. Where there's one, there might be others. Kodos out.' There was a click as the sergeant went off air.

Alaster looked at the bolt pistol in his hand. He hadn't said a word about dropping his weapons. He twitched, feeling guilty. Better not let that happen again!

He straightened up. A small stone had got caught under the edge of his left knee pad. He flicked it away with the tip of his chainsword. It plinked quietly onto the ground some distance away.

He heard a rumble of thrusters. Moments later, another Storm Raven dropped to the ground nearby. It was Patreus. 'Brother – are you all right?'

'Yeah, I'm fine – dignity's a bit bruised but nothing that won't grow back!'

There was a rumble of thrusters and a crunch of gravel as Nasty landed nearby. 'Skak,' Nasty said, 'you've got bug on you!'

Alaster looked down. There was a bit of flesh hook still lodged under his shoulder pad. The chitinous hook was lodged just under the side. The pink ropey appendage hung down from it an inch or so, before abruptly being terminated. The cut was ragged from the rotary blade of his chainsword. A line of purple alien ichor had dribbled a slimy trail across the side of his chest eagle.

'Ugh,' Alaster said, revolted by the thing. Tucking his chainsword under one arm, he carefully pried the hook out. With a shver of revulsion he threw it away. It vanished somewhere into the distance. 'Good riddance!'

Nasty wasn't paying attention. He was admiring the Lictor's corpse. 'Wow,' Nasty said, 'that's one nicely cooked Nid! What did you do?'

'Thrusters – in its face,' Alaster explained. 'Then a couple of bolts, to make sure.'

'You get all the fun,' Nasty said. 'I want to barbecue a bug too. Are there any more?'

'Don't know,' Alaster replied. 'We need to find out, though.'

They quickly decided on a plan. They'd sweep out the surrounding area. As the strongest of them in close combat, Nasty would act as bait on the ground. Patreus and Alaster would hover above. If they found another Lictor, Nasty would draw its attention while Alaster and Patreus drop in from behind. Alaster reckoned they could take it down fastest if they assaulted it from all sides. Overwhelming force seemed the best way to deal with Tyranids.

With the plan laid, they moved out. After that little encounter, Alaster felt better to be airborne again. The wind had picked up a bit. He found himself bobbing up and down in it. Below and around them, tendrils of cool mist were moving across the barren landscape of the Gap. Overhead, a layer of grey cloud had flooded between the peaks. Alaster couldn't pick out either sun anymore.

Nasty was moving around below them. His blue-black figure looked small from this height. He kept looking around him, scanning the nearby environment, as he moved amongst the rocks.

Then came the boring bit. They had to search their chunk of the Gap, slowly and methodically. There was a lot of ground to cover. The Lictor could be well-hidden, if there was another one out there.

The first half-hour passed. Nothing happened.

The second half-hour passed. The weather got worse. Heavy fog settled over the Gap. Visibility diminished. They had to tighten their formation. It was hard to keep track of events on the ground, in between the poor light and denser banks of fog. Nasty's blue-black form kept fading from sight. Patreus and Alaster's thrusters growled amidst the fog.

The search was slow going. Frankly, it was tedious. It was hard to think that war could sometimes be a boring experience – but this was. The main point of excitement, such as it was, came from the periodic check-ins with Kodos.

This was the strange thing, Alaster supposed. War was an exercise in extremes. A Marine could spend hours searchingly fruitlessly for his enemy, finding nothing. It could mean one long and boring minute after another. Only during any one of those long and boring minutes, he might suddenly find himself fighting for his life, with no warning and no second chances. If the brother allowed his attention to wander, the warning might consist of a shot to the head. It took self-discipline to stay focused. It took a strong will not to let the mind drift away from duty. Alaster thought of all the sudden, unexpected moments of danger during their training. He was beginning to see the point of it all. It wasn't just random sadism, it had been a way of making them learn those skills of observation and self-discipline that they needed as battle-brothers. And to learn these sorts of skills, they'd needed to experience them. You couldn't really sit someone down in a classroom and teach them patience or fortitude – it just wouldn't work.

Knowing that didn't make the patrol any less boring, though.

Fifteen minutes later on, something abruptly happened.

'Hey,' Nasty said, voice crackling in their earphones, 'I saw some – SKAK!'

Alaster caught a sudden movement beneath them. He saw Nasty's form spring to one side. Something leapt through the space he'd just vacated. It was fast – almost a blur. Alaster recognised the form of the Lictor, though.

'Contact,' he said into his microphone. 'Down we go!'

He cut his thrusters. He dropped like a stone. The mist parted. The ground shot up toward him. Alaster landed with a crunch of gravel. He flexed his knees to absorb the impact.

There was a faint crunch. Patreus had landed some way to his left.

Alaster looked around. Tendrils of fog drifted around them. He couldn't see anything, just rocks, dripping with condensation. 'Nasty – where are you?'

'Over here,' Nasty's voice told him.

'That's not much help – I can't see you!' Alaster looked around, trying to peer through the murk.

'Try now,' Nasty said.

Suddenly Alaster caught two glowing red dots in the middle-distance. Nasty had lit up his eye-lenses, Alaster realised. 'I see you,' he said. 'Hurray for glowing eyes!'

Now that he knew where to look, Alaster could just see Nasty's outline, faint in the dense fog. The mist had washed it out to the shadow of a shadow, but it was there. Nasty blinked his eye lenses off. The glowing red dots vanished.

'Where's the Nid?' Patreus said.

'I see it!' Nasty said. 'Alaster – your left!'

Alaster turned. He saw another shadow in the mist. It was big. Curving talons loomed over its angular head. It was rushing forwards.

Suddenly it was on him. A talon scythed down. Alaster ducked to the side. Gravel hissed under his boots. He slashed at the talon. His chainsword smacked into its side. He felt the reverberation down his arm. He drove the blade forward.

The alien abruptly jumped back. It sprang on its powerful hind legs. Its form passed over head. It landed behind him, rocks crunching underneath it.

Alaster staggered as the pressure was removed from his blade. He twisted on foot, beginning a turn-

A force smote him from behind. He was thrown off his feet. The ground came up. He hit it with a thump. Alaster rolled to one side, springing to his feet. He'd kept his weapons this time, thank the Emperor!

He looked for the xeno. There it was, not two yards away. It raised its talons.

There was a movement behind it. Through the fog, Alaster caught a glimpse of the swinging blade of an axe. Chitin crunched. The xeno staggered. Fragments sprayed from its back. Ichor spurted out. 'Gotcha!' Nasty shouted triumphantly. His axe crunched once more into the xeno's back.

It staggered.

From behind Alaster's side there came a double crack. A plume of ichor erupted from beside the xeno's eye. Another spurted from its thorax. Patreus had shot it, twice.

Nasty's axe crunched into the back of the alien's head. The Tyranid topped over. It flopped lifelessly to the ground, in a mass of broken chitin and leaking ichor.

'Thanks, Brothers,' Alaster said.

'Don't mention it,' Patreus said. He sounded pleased with himself.

'The filthy thing's bled on my axe,' Nasty complained.

Alaster spoke into his helmet mike. 'Sergeant, this is Karo,' he said.

'Go ahead, Brother,' Kodos's voice replied.

'We've had another contact. One more Lictor.'

'What's your status?'

'No injuries here. The bug's very dead, though.'

'As it should be. I have new orders for your team.'

'Go ahead, Sergeant.'

'We're returning to camp – briefly. Reinforcements are arriving. We'll be pairing up with some others for our next patrol. We'll meet them there. In the meantime there's another squad coming to patrol the Gap.'

'Understood. When do we need to move?'

'Now would be a good time,' Kodos replied.

'Okay. We'll be under way immediately.'

Alaster looked at the shadowed forms of Patreus and Nasty. 'Looks like we're going back to camp.'

'What, already?' Nasty asked. 'I thought things were getting interesting!'

'I think there'll be no problems in that regards,' Alaster replied. 'Come on – let's move!'

A short while later, the found themselves touching down on the far side of the valley, close to where they'd teleported in. During the time they'd been patrolling, a camp had sprung up on the hillside. The fog was much thinner here. As Alaster sank to the grass-covered ground on his thrusters, he could see tents and vehicles amongst the mist. In the near-distance, he could see the shape of a Thunderhawk, hovering just above the ground on its engines. He could hear their rumble, even from over where he was. The spacecraft bore the familiar colours of his chapter, although the emblem painted on its side identified it as belonging to the Sixth Company. The front ramp of the Thunderhawk was down, just touching the ground. As Alaster watched, a Predator rolled out of it. The tank was followed by a Dreadnought. Two squads of Storm Ravens marched down the ramp in the wake of the Dreadnought.

Then the ramp rose back up, locking into place. The rumble of the Thunderhawk's engines rose to a roar. It ascended up into the sky, disappearing into the low cloud.

'Wow,' Nasty said. 'This is looking pretty major.'

Alaster felt his feet make contact with the hillside. He killed his thrusters. He heard his battle-brothers land next to him. They were stood on the edge of a busy scene. Around the camp, Chapter serfs were busy erected gun emplacements. Inside, he could see frenetic activity as Ravens and serfs alike moved back and forth on various missions.

'It's not just us,' Patreus said. 'Look!' He pointed off to the side.

There were two more encampments along the hillside, one after the other. They were in differing states of completeness. Tents were still being put up in both. There were banners flying proudly in front of both, though. Alaster recognised the heraldry of the Doom Eagles and the Red Hawks.

'Where are the Wolves and the Blueys?' Nasty asked.

'Still to come, I guess,' Alaster said.

There was a growl of jets and a rustle of grass nearby. Another Assault Marine settled to the ground. 'There you are,' Kodos's voice growled. 'I wondered where you three had got to. Come on.' His jets fired and he leapt into the air again.

Alaster and the other two exchanged glances.

'Here we go again,' Patreus commented.

Moments later they were stood with Kodos and the rest of the squad. They weren't alone. With them was what looked like almost all of the Fourth Company. They were stood a row back amongst a triple-rank of warriors in blue-black armour. Lightning-carrying ravens glared with red-eyed defiance from every shoulder pad. Chest eagles gleamed in the diffuse light.

Alaster wondered what was going on. They were gathered in front of what looked like the command tent. It was larger than the rest and satellite dishes and antennae bristled around it. The tent-flaps shifted lightly in the wind. The grass rippled.

In front of it was a flagpole. The marines were gathered in a respectful semi-circle around it. There were no colours flying from it, which seemed a bit odd. Alaster noted that the Ravens' encampment apparently lacked a banner. He suddenly had an inkling that was about to change. It seemed the flagpole was freshly-erected. A discarded spade lay nearby and some displaced earth was heaped up amongst the grass beside it.

The doors to the command tent parted. Alaster stared as out walked nine Storm Raven Terminators. With them was a tenth Terminator. He had his helmet tucked under one arm. Alaster recognised Lakon immediately. The other Terminators were the captain's honour guard, Alaster realised.

He'd never seen any of them in Terminator armour before, though.

Inside his helmet, Alaster swallowed. Lakon's face was grim. Once more, this scene brought home to Alaster how serious this situation was.

Lakon had his axe in one hand. Alaster had a sudden flashback to that first day, in the principal's office, just after he'd got the knife into Brother Thaddeus. He remembered Lakon telling him that he'd taken the weapon off of an Orkish champion. The ultimate irony – a xeno weapon, used against its former masters. Alaster supposed it would get some more use today. In his other hand, Lakon didn't have his usual bolt pistol. Instead, he was gripping a storm bolter. The other Terminators, Alaster noted, were all armed with power fists and storm bolters, except for one who was armed with a massive assault cannon.

Lakon strode up to the flagpole. His boots left deep prints in the soft ground. As he walked over, two Chapter serfs scurried out after him. They were carrying a rolled-up flag. They moved up to the flagpole with it.

Lakon took another step forward, partly blocking Alaster's view of the flagpole.

'Brothers,' Lakon said, 'we are here today with serious purpose. I won't lie to you. The news I bear isn't good. Beyond the mountains to the south, at least a million foul xenos are gathered. Their plan is clear enough. They are moving forward, even as we speak. They intend to swarm through the Gap, like a horde of locusts. They seek to sink the lands beyond under a tide of alien filth.' His voice grated with anger and revulsion. Alaster noted one of the Terminator's power fists clenching – doubtless the Raven inside the bulky suit was feeling righteous anger at the audacity of the Tyranids. Alaster felt much the same, as he was sure did all of his assembled brothers.

The captain spoke again. 'But I must clarify. I said the news I bear isn't good – for the Tyranids. For we are here, and we have come to destroy them. They seek to claim this world, but they will not do so. It is the Emperor's will that we are here and it is the Emperor's will that we shall prevail. He is at our sides today; no evil can defeat us. No matter how clever the alien's plans, we will crush them.'

The serfs were tying the flag onto the cord running up the side of the pole. They were trying to do it without unrolling the flag itself, Alaster noted. The rolled-up column of fabric kept drooping.

Lakon continued, 'As you have seen, we are not alone in this fight. Our allies are with us. The Eagles, the Hawks and soon the other chapters. We will join battle together. Wherever the enemy dares to set foot, there will be a battle-brother to stop them. They will not cross the Gap. They will not taint this land.'

There was a rustle as the serfs stepped back. They were unrolling the flag. It was tied to the cord now, Alaster saw. One of them held it outstretched, while the other ran to the flagpole. He looked enquiringly at Lakon. The captain met his eye and nodded.

With a screech of pulleys, the flag was raised. It rippled in the wind. On it was a grey box, outlining a blue square. Inside the blue square was the lightning-raven emblem of the chapter. The edging of the flag was blue-black. The words STORM RAVENS – FOURTH COMPANY were proudly emblazoned in silver on the flag. At the far side, away from the pole, the flag separated into two triangular pennons. One bore the lightning bolt on triangle badge of the Fourth Cmpany. The other bore the Imperial eagle.

'You see this banner, raised before you,' Lakon said. The flag flapped loudly in a sudden gust of wind. 'While it flies, it shows the world our resolve. This land is ours. This is a human world. This is part of the Emperor's domain. Though our blood may flow and our brothers may fall, the foe will never claim this land. They will never stand here, beside this flag. While we fight, this banner will fly with honour. And in four days' time, it will be lowered with glory. It will be lowered when we have triumphed against the enemy.

'We must go forth, Brothers. The coming days will be long and arduous. Many challenges await us. But I have absolute confidence in you.' Lakon surveyed the assembled force. 'I know my brothers. I know my warriors. You know no fear and you will know no failure. The Emperor is with us, Brothers. He will see our deeds this day. We are Space Marines. We are Storm Ravens.' His voice rose. 'And you know what we will do? We will bring the storm.' He pulled the axe from his belt. He raised it, brandishing it. The weak light gleamed on the savage edge. 'What do you say, Brothers?'

Suddenly all the marines were waving chainswords and bolters and other weapons in the air. 'Bring the storm!' they chanted. Alaster realised his voice had added itself to the chant.

'What do we say?' Lakon repeated.

'Bring the storm! Bring the storm!'

A brief look of wry amusement crossed Lakon's face. 'Louder. I don't think they quite heard you on the other side of the valley!'

'BRING THE STORM! BRING THE STORM! BRING THE STORM!' The assembled Fourth Company chanted in unison for what seemed like ages. Alaster found himself enthusiastically waving his chainsword above his head. His hearts were pounding. He could feel a tense eagerness in his chest. He wanted to be out there, killing xenos. He knew all his brothers felt the same. This was what being a Space Marine was about. Here they all stood, he and his comrades, united by their common purpose. They had only one function and that was to destroy the enemies of the Emperor.

Thus began the first day of the Battle of the Gap.


	35. Chapter 35 The Second Day

'Another patrol,' Nasty said. 'Great.' He didn't sound entirely enthusiastic He flicked a bit of grit from the back of one of his gauntlets.

'Stop complaining,' Alaster said. 'You were whining about being bored earlier.'

'Yeah,' Nasty said. 'That was earlier.'

It was early in the morning on their second day at the Gap. The first day had ended up being a bit of a non-event. There had been a few more skirmishes later in the afternoon but no major engagements. After meeting opposition at the Gap, the Nids had pulled back. It had seemed the Hive Mind had been taken by surprise. It clearly hadn't expected its skirmishers to get skirmished themselves. The speculation was that it had steped back to reconsider. There had been a few exploratory probes overnight but no significant attacks. By that point all five chapters were in place on the other side of the valley. They'd found themselves in the rather-weird situation of outnumbering the occasional Nid excursions. There was a rumour that the commanders had ended up drawing lots over which chapter got to butcher which clutch of Nids.

There'd been irritable mutterings in the Ravens' camp. The marines felt they hadn't been given their fair share of bug-bashing overnight.

The morning had dawned clearer and brighter than the night before. A decision had apparently been made to force the Nids' hand. Reconnaissance by force. The bugs hadn't done a lot overnight. Alaster suspected that was worrying people. What were the aliens up to? It wasn't like them to sit there and do nothing. It seemed to hint at some sort of plan. So this morning patrols were being sent out, up and through the Gap, to see how far they could go before they drew a response. The sooner whatever the bugs were doing was disrupted, the better. That was exactly what the squad were doing right now.

Small stones crunched under Alaster's soles as he walked. The Ravens were on foot for now, just to make sure they didn't miss anything on the ground. The wind moaned around them. Alaster kept his eyes focused on his surroundings. He still felt a twinge of embarrassment from yesterday's near-disaster. He was determined not to be surprised by any Lictors today.

'It's quiet,' Patreus observed. He didn't sound pleased by the silence. Alaster didn't blame him. They were technically in the middle of a battle and yet apart from the wind, it was pretty much silent. It felt weird.

'Enjoy it while it lasts, Brother,' Kodos said.

A sense of tension had settled over the squad. They were eager to get out there and take the fight to the enemy but they were also uncomfortably aware that they didn't know what awaited them.

Alaster glanced at his chainsword. His fist was clutched on it. He could feel the grip under his palm. He looked around. They were moving through a greener region of the Gap. The rocks were encrusted with dense lichen and thick carpets of moss. Targetting graphics slid across his field of vision, crosshairs and range-finders randomly locking onto odd rocks and patches of moss. It seemed the machine spirit was feeling the tension too.

He heard Nasty's boots grate on the rock. 'I didn't bargain on this lot,' Nasty said in a low voice. He jerked his bolt pistol backwards, to signify their allies.

Alaster had to nod. The Ravens were accompanying a squad of Doom Eagles. They were a distance back. They were quite visible. Their main colour was silver. Even in the morning gloom it was prominent. Their armour was far more prominent than their manners, though. In the time the Ravens had been scouting for them, Alaster reckoned he hadn't heard more than four words out of any of the Doom Eagles. Even Kodos didn't get much more than curt nods out of their sergeant.

There was a little, bluish light near the front of their ranks. One of the Eagles cradled a flamer. The light was the tiny ignition point, hot and ready under the main barrel. Alaster was curious to see it in action. He'd seen them used during the fight at the hive centre, but never up close. It would be interesting to watch, if he got the chance. Alaster wondered what one of them would be like to carry. He glanced at his blade. A different sort of fighting experience, he supposed, to his chainsword. He reckoned he could understand the silence of the flamer-holder. If you were lugging around that much incendiary gas, you probably would keep your eyes on it and your mouth shut.

As for the rest of them, though, that was a different matter.

There was a crackle in his ears. 'Hills ahead,' he heard Fegust report.

There they were. Alaster could suddenly just see them, two black mounds looming in the fog. They weren't really hills, just two big mounds of debris. The ancient glacier that had carved the Gap must have dumped a load of rubbish just here, as it had melted away several thousand years previously. The hills were about a dozen metres high and maybe three times that far apart. Their rolling, rubble-strewn slopes stopped just short of each other. They were old terrain features – they were on pre-war aerial images going back a long time.

A Raven moved in the mist. Kodos. He was signalling to the Eagles. 'Wait here,' he said over the public channel. 'We'll look ahead.'

Their sergeant just nodded. Once.

'Curt skakker,' Nasty muttered to himself.

Kodos' eyelenses glared redly at Nasty. 'Brother Sandy, you will be polite about our allies. Or I'll kick your scrawny arse.' He paused, then added, 'Even if they are curt skakkers.'

Moments later the Ravens were in the air. The hills slid by below them. Mist swirled around them. A few moments passed.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'Lets' drop down.'

Thrusters lowered them toward the rocky ground. As they approached Alaster saw lots of little pebbles and rounded stones. They were heaped in unstable mounds. Some of them were sliding down even as the marines approached. And some of them had tails.

Alaster blinked. Wait, what -?

There was a blur of motion. Something sprang. Teeth flashed. The Ripper clamped its jaw onto his boot.

'RIPPERS!' Alaster shouted. His thrusters slammed into reverse. He was jerked upwards. He kicked his leg, trying to dislodge the Tyranid.

It was hanging by its mouth, from the end of its boot. Two beady little eyes glared malevolently up at him. There was a grinding sound. It was workings its jaw, trying to wear at the ceramite.

He swung his legs together. As hard as he could. His boots came together. There was a loud crack.

Pulverised, bloody chunks of Ripper peeled away. The main body hung, broken and mangled, wedged between his feet. Alaster let his legs hang apart. Even in death it still clung to his foot. With a shudder he scraped it off with the end of his chainsword.

The carcass fell away into the mist. Alaster saw something spring up toward it. Another flash of jaws, then a swirling feeding frenzy below and the remains were devoured.

'Skak,' Nasty said. 'There's hundreds of them!'

'A little ambush,' Kodos growled. 'Think they're clever, do they? Let's deal with these little mouthy skaks. Follow me!'

With that he roared off, back the way they'd come.

Puzzled, Alaster followed. He checked to make sure Patreus and Nasty were with him. They were - good. He was flanked by the rumble of their thrusters.

Kodos was heading straight for the two hills.

Alaster looked down. Below them, there was a slithering, flowing motion on the ground. The Rippers were following. It was like a tide over the ground.

Alaster wondered what Kodos was planning.

The hills loomed.

'Between them!' the sergeant said. 'Make them follow us. Choke point!'

Suddenly Alaster had an inkling.

The hills were on either side of them. They passed. There was a rush of backwash as several thrusters played against the nearby slopes. The mist swirled. They were through.

Silver. Up ahead in the gloom were the Doom Eagles. They were arrayed in a half-circle, facing the hills. The marine with the flamer was in the middle.

'Up – pull up!' Kodos ordered.

The Ravens obeyed, slowing their approach and turning upwards.

'Okay, that'll do. We're out of the line of fire,' Kodos said.

Moments later, the Ripper flood came pouring out from between the hills. A chittering, slithering mass of alien horrors swarmed toward the waiting Space Marines.

'Shouldn't we help?' Patreus asked.

'Watch,' Kodos replied.

There was new light below. A curling, swirly red tongue of flame reached out from the flamer. Bloody reflections washed over the silver armour of the Doom Eagles. The tongue of flame licked out toward the Rippers. Fire caressed carapaces.

The chittering turned to a keening.

Confusion erupted below. The front wave of Nids found themselves on fire. They tried to surge back but the density of bugs behind them drove them forward. More Rippers plunged into the flames.

The brother with the flamer raked it back and forth across the flow. His movements were calm and methodical. He displayed no urgency.

Alaster took a deep breath. He smelt the weak rubbery-metal scent of the inside of his helmet – and something else, leaking through the filters. It wasn't remotely like bacon, but he could smell cooked Nid.

The keening below was an agonised roar now.

Still the Nids poured on. Sheer volume was driving them somewhat forward. Now ten bolters spoke, as the other Doom Eagles joined in. Nid after Nid was blasted apart. Alaster watched the carnage with awe. The Doom Eagles might not speak much but their aim was just fine. His eyes looke onto a Ripper just below, just in time for a single shot to blow its little body apart. Chitinous fragments sprayed everywhere, along with shredded innards.

The flow of Nids was decreasing. The flamer played over them a couple more times, then the flame subsided. Moments later, the bolter-fire stopped. The ground below was slick with mangled Rippers.

'Wow,' Nasty said.

'Reverse ambush.' Kodos was smug. 'I was feeding everything we were seeing back to the Eagles. The moment we saw the Nids, they knew what to do.'

'Oh,' Alaster said. 'Now what?'

'Now we move on.'

Two hours passed.

'Where're we going?' Nasty asked.

'Don't know,' Alaster said. 'Kodos just said follow.'

The Gap was dead quiet. All the patrol reports filtering back painted a picture of desertion. The Nids seemed to have pulled back a long way. It was still cloudy beyond the other side, below the level of the Gap. It was hard to see what was going on down there. Alaster imagined people weren't too keen on that. It made it all the odder that they'd been recalled from the Gap.

They'd parted ways with the Doom Eagles about a quarter of an hour earlier. The Ravens weren't directed back toward the camp. Instead they were flying in the direction of the dam. The river was passing below them. Sunlight glinted on the water.

There was a crackle. Kodos' voice cut into their conversation. 'There's a Guard motor detachment entering the area. Apparently they've seen movement.'

'Uh,' Nasty said, 'can't they deal with it? And leave us alone?'

This time it was Eorvan. 'You know what you get when you leave the Guard alone? Corpses, that's what.' Then he actually snorted with amusement.

'And that would be a bit mean,' Kodos added, 'even if it does serve them right for taking so long.'

Alaster's hand clutched at his chainsword. He felt a gnawing sense of frustration. Was this all they had to do? Wasn't it time to press an attack? Babysitting the Guard seemed trivial.

The dam was fast approaching. There was a sheer rockface on one side. On the other, trees ran down toward the waterline. Alaster was startled to see that some of them were actually still alive. He'd got used to trees being dead, blackened spars jutting from the ground. Seeing them with thick green foliage and wreathed in branches came as a surprise.

There was a dirt track running along the edge of the wood. A couple of miles back, Alaster could see a small puff of dirt rising from it.

'There it is,' Kodos said.

An icon blinked into life in Alaster's display, a little red circle blinking on and off around a tiny dot. Squinting, he realised it was a Chimera. The transport was rumbling on just ahead of the cloud of dirt.

'They seem okay,' Nasty said. He sounded doubtful. Alaster suspected they all felt this mission was a bit pointless.

'We've got our orders,' Kodos said. 'We'll check in, make sure they haven't stubbed their toes or anything. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can get back to some real work.'

They headed toward the chimera.

They were halfway there when the trees erupted. The leaves rippled. Black shapes rushed from the branches. Ugly wings flapped and angular heads glared hungrily.

The Gargoyles flew straight for the Space Marines.

'Attack!' Eorvan said.

There were six of them.

'Everyone get ready,' Kodos said.

'They've got no guns,' Fegust pointed out.

He was right, Alaster saw. The Gargoyles weren't carrying any bio-weapons. Their arms were free, ending in sharp claws.

'Great,' Eorvan said. 'A new mutation. Wonderful.'

The Gargoyles were almost on them. Alaster swung himself round, lining up his pistol. He snapped off three shots, in close succession. One clipped a Gargoyle's wing. Ichor spurted out. The leathery membrane spasmed. The beast's flight was disrupted. His second shot clipped its head. The bolt bounced but the alien was stunned. It dropped to the ground.

His third shot was at another one. It went wild.

There wasn't time for a fourth one. The Gargoyles were on them.

A shadow swept over Alaster. The alien dived at him, furling its wings. Alaster slapped it with the side of his chainsword. It tumbled. Then it flapped its wings and steadied itself. Its eyes glared at him. It flew back toward him.

It extended its claws. Aerial close combat, Alaster realised. The hive mind must be trying a new way to neutralise the assault marines. He supposed they had caused it some inconvenience.

As it approached, he kicked. His boot smacked into its face. Chitin crunched. It spun back, dazed.

Alaster risked a look around. As he did he watched Nasty dispatch one with his axe. Patreus and Kodos were hacking away together at one particular Gargoyle. He saw another one slither, dead and slick with ichor, from Fegust's blade.

He looked back just in time for the Gargoyle to fly at him again.

He met it with his blade. His stroke was careful. The swing spun him back in the air but he didn't miss. The blade crunched into the creature's head. Ichor and brains spewed out.

Dead and broken, the Gargoyle fell to the ground below.

Alaster turned, just in time to watch Eorvan dispatch one. Alaster couldn't see any others. He looked down and counted six corpses, broken and bloody on the grass below.

'Well,' Kodos said, 'it looks like the Guard weren't seeing things after all. Who could've guessed?'

'We'd better say hello,' Eorvan remarked.

The Chimera had stopped. It was sat nearby. They flew over to it.

It was a long, blocky vehicle. Its sides were sharp and angular, so that any impacting ordnance would just bounce off. It was sat on big, fat wheels. Open firing slots lined its sides. Nervous eyes peeped out from inside. The trees loomed behind it.

The grass rustled as Kodos landed. The mutter of his thrusters fell silent. The vents on his plasma pistol glowed in their flickering way. 'Hello,' he said to the vehicle. 'We heard you'd seen something.'

The other Ravens followed suit, dropping quietly to the ground. Alaster bent his knees as he landed, absorbing the slight impact.

Alaster was expecting someone to emerge but no-one did. Instead, a worried voice spoke from somewhere inside. 'Uh, there's more, we think, in the trees-'

And then everything happened at once.

The undergrowth rustled. Shadows moved amongst the trees.

Genestealers exploded from cover.

Alaster had a flash of fangs and claws and then it was on him. The force of the impact slammed him to the ground. Its bulk blocked out the sky. A clawed arm slashed. He felt it smack into his side. He heard the claw screech across his breastplate.

He kicked it, as hard as he could.

The Genestealer was thrown into the air. Alaster caught a glimpse of chaos, all around him. He saw Patreus chop at one then shoot another while it was distracted. He saw Nasty's axe bite into an alien skull. He heard the hiss-roar of Kodos's plasma pistol. He saw the flash of light as a plasma bolt leapt angrily from the barrel.

There was a thud behind him. The Genestealer had landed.

Alaster rolled to his feet. Just in time for the monster to rush him. This time he was ready. He brought out his sword, turning the flat to it. The alien ran into it. The impact reverberated up his arm.

It was slowed for an instant – just long enough for Alaster to drill a bolt straight into its head. His pistol-shot was true. The creature's head exploded. It toppled to the ground.

Another one leapt at him.

Alaster brought his bolt pistol up, straight into its face. He felt a satisfying crack as the heavy gun-metal connected with xeno bone. Before it could do more then stumble, his chainsword whirred into life. Its teeth ripped into the alien's side. Ichor and guts sprayed out. For a moment the blade caught on some bone. Alaster yanked it back.

With a ripping sound, the xeno was torn asunder. Its innards spilled onto the grass. The air stank of excrement and ichor. It was dead.

Alaster turned, in time to see a Genestealer running at Patreus's back. Patreus was busy with another Genestealer, hacking and slashing. It kept almost getting him with its claws.

The other one loomed behind the Raven. It raised its arms-

Alaster's pistol spoke. Two short, sharp cracks. It kicked back in his hand. Two spurts of ichor leapt from the Genestealer's neck. It staggered. Alaster shot it again, ripping an arm from its socket. The xeno toppled to the ground. It spasmed a couple of times, then it died.

At that moment, Patreus finally got an edge on his attacker. The Space Marine kicked at one of its legs, knocking the bony appendage out. The alien stumbled. That gave Patreus all the opening he needed. He brought the butt of his pistol down on its head, as hard as he could. A loud crunch rang out.

Another dead Tyranid fell to the ground.

Alaster looked around, eager to find more xenos to kill. Two more ran from the trees. His bolt pistol spoke again, and again. They fell lifelessly to the grass.

The sounds of combat were dying down. 'I think that's the last of them,' he heard Sandrer say.

It seemed Sandrer was right. There was no more movement in the bushes. The Ravens checked each other over for injuries, then quickly cleaned their blades. Kodos went to talk to the Guardsmen.

A Space Marine walked up to Alaster. It was Patreus. He was sporting a fresh scratch running across his breastplate and a couple of new nicks on his shoulder pads. Other then those minor bits of damage, he was fine.

'What are the bugs doing out here?' Patreus asked.

'I don't know,' Alaster replied.

'How did they get here?'

'I guess the Gargoyles flew.'

'But they're behind our lines. Why didn't anyone see them?'

Alaster shrugged. 'Brother, I have no idea.'

Patreus scanned the strewn corpses. 'This doesn't bode well,' he said.

'What, that we got a lot of them?'

'No, that they're here in the first place.'

'Look, perhaps they're just what's left of a patrol. An advance guard or something. Something they sent out, perhaps, before we got here. Look, Kodos is coming back. Let's see what he has to say.'

The sergeant returned from the Chimera, striding grimly over. The squad gathered round. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, at the forest. 'They say they've been seeing stuff all along. Movement in the trees and that. Not much, but enough to be spooked. It's why they won't leave the transport. They haven't actually been attacked themselves, at any point-'

'Lucky us,' Nasty put in.

'-but they say there's been more of it the last few miles. One of them reckons he saw something near the dam. He's got binoculars. Says he saw movement. Aerial shapes – Gargoyles, possibly.'

'There shouldn't be any Nids here,' Eorvan said.

'Yes, Corporal. I've heard the tactical summaries too. Sadly it seems the carcasses here haven't. We can't leave this alone. We're going to the dam, have a little look around.'

'What about the Guard?' Fegust said.

Kodos shrugged. 'If this lot are too scared to help us save their scrawny arses then frankly, I don't care. Let them get on with it. I guess they're safe enough, inside their wheeled tin can.'

'No-one said we had to babysit them all the way in,' Eorvan added.

'Supposedly there's an artillery detachment rolling in after this lot,' Kodos added. 'Should be due this afternoon. It'd be good if it actually does show up. We could use some bombardment.' He nodded toward the Gap, visible in the distance behind them. 'We need to make sure this area's clear. I'm filing a report for Lakon right now.' He paused for a moment. 'There, that's sent. Now we need to move!'

The assault squad took to the air again. They flew over ranks of dense trees. There was some movement but it seemed to be down to the wind. Although they kept a wary eye below, nothing else arose to challenge them.

The dam arrived shortly. It was a curved expanse of concrete, plugging the valley completely at one end. The other side of it was flooded with placid blue water. The river re-emerged through the dam's drainage, a frothing, foaming cascade spouting from a rectangular opening halfway down the dam. The water splashed and roared down to the valley floor, where it surged on.

The top of the dam was wide enough for a walkway. It was just big enough to accommodate two Space Marines, stood next to each other. It was marked with a couple of inspection hatches and some pipes. The dominant colour was a beige-greyish shade.

'I don't see anything,' Nasty said as they hovered over it.

There wasn't any sign of life. The dam was still.

'Look,' Patreus said. He pointed. 'On the slope. Above the water. There's something.'

He was right. Just above the big rectangular slot, there was a bulging, discoloured patch.

'We'd better have a look,' Kodos said.

The marines descended. The patch's nature was revealed soon enough.

A cluster of big, bulging sacks were glued to the concrete by a slimy, organic webbing. The sacks were lumpy and uneven. They were a meaty pink in colour, the webbing a shiny, wet white. The whole clutch was big, maybe four metres across.

'Bio-mines,' Kodos said with revulsion. 'The Nids've mined the dam!'

'Skak,' Nasty said. 'What do we do?'

'Don't touch them,' Kodos said. 'Any impact might rupture them. There's bio-acids in there, powerful ones. The idea, I suppose, is they'll eat into the concrete. The weakened dam blows. Big flood of water drowns the valley.'

'That sounds pointless,' Nasty said.

'Not if half our army's down there when it goes,' Patreus noted.

'Clever skakking bugs,' Kodos said.

'Can we …disarm it?' Alaster asked.

Kodos considered the alien bomb. The marines hovered in front of it. The wind pushed at them. Some of the spray reached up from the foaming water below. The rumbling roar of the cascade dominated all other sounds.

'What's that above it?' Fegust asked suddenly. He pointed with his sword.

From the clutch of sacks, a thick greyish cord ran upwards. Two and a half metres above the collection, it reached its destination. This proved to be a fat, round nodule that bulged out from the dam. It was purplish in colour, with swollen veins staring out from its sides. Something about it put Alaster in mind of an alien brain.

'Well, well, well,' Kodos said. 'It seems we've found the detonator. A hive node, linked straight into the mass. And hooking it straight back into Bug Central. The hive mind can blow this out with a single thought. We can't do anything about the bombs themselves, but maybe…'

Abruptly, he raised his plasma pistol. He aimed above the nodule. He fired. The pistol hiss-roared. A bolt of white-hot plasma seared itself into the concrete.

Heated so abruptly, the hive node swelled up as its interior fluids boiled. It ruptured on one side. Slime dribbled out. It sagged down, like a deflating balloon. Its colour faded into a lifeless grey.

The sacks were unaffected. They rippled slightly, but did nothing else. They were far enough away that they didn't feel the blast. To them it was just a wash of warm air, nothing else.

'Well,' Kodos said, 'that helps. A little. The hive mind can't feel the mines anymore – the link's broken. They're not defused, exactly, but setting them off's going to be a bit more difficult now.'

'Won't it need something, you know, more permanent?' Nasty asked.

'And today's award for spotting the blindingly obvious goes to Sandy Shepherd,' Kodos growled. 'Yes of course it'll skakking need something more permanent. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.


	36. Chapter 36 One Disaster Leads To Another

'So they wouldn't get out of the Chimera, would they?' If Lakon's terminator helm could look cynical and slightly depressed, it would. As it did the captain had to settle for a ceramite growl instead.

'No my lord,' Kodos said. The tent flaps stirred in the wind. Sunlight streamed in. Shadows passed as people hurried busily by. Engines rumbled outside as vehicles moved around. The air smelt of machine exhaust, mud and human sweat. Hard-packed earth was under their feet, with a few mangled blades of grass lingering here and there. The many feet of the assembled army hadn't been good to this field. To their left was a rickety field table. Several maps were sat on it, along with a dribbling votive candle. The candle had gone out a couple of hours previously. A fat blob of wax had dribbled over one of the maps.

'Great.' Lakon wasn't impressed. 'I had a feeling it would come down to us.'

'My lord?'

'You might call it natural selection,' Lakon said. 'We're left with the Guardsmen bright enough to frag the Commissar. The rest of them are probably dead by now. Problem is, it means this lot are bright enough to have a sense of self-preservation.'

Kodos sighed. 'It's probably true. How inconvenient.'

'Oh well. At least this lot also had the wit to phone home when they spotted something odd. It could be worse.'

'Could it?'

'Yes, Sergeant. We might not know there was anything loose in the forest.'

'So there are Nids, north of the valley,' Kodos said. 'How did they get there?'

'I think that's pretty obvious.'

'Is it, my lord?'

'Yes. Aerial patrols haven't seen anything. The nearest settlements didn't report anything odd before our arrival. Surveillance images taken before deployment show nothing north of the mountains.'

'That doesn't leave anything … obvious to me, Captain.'

Lakon sighed. 'There must be a tunnel. How else did they cross the valley?'

'Oh.' Kodos rolled his eyes. 'Skak me. You're right. That's where all the buggy bastards have been the last few hours, isn't it?'

Lakon's helm nodded. 'Digging. Yes. And all the while we were scratching our heads, wondering why the Gap had gone quiet. The skakking bugs were probably right under our feet at that very moment. The foul things were probably laughing at us the whole way!'

'I don't think they do that, my lord. Clack their mandibles, perhaps.'

'Yes, _thank_ you, Kodos,' Lakon said acerbically. 'And the plan is obvious enough. Mine the dam. When the Guard arrives, blow it. Drown them all as they cross the valley.'

Kodos scowled. 'And they almost managed it, too.'

'Looks like we have your lads to thank for paying attention,' Lakon agreed. 'I'm glad someone was.'

Kodos nodded slowly. 'Of course we assumed that there were no bugs near the dam. So we didn't look. If we had, we might've seen them.'

'I think,' Lakon said, 'that maybe we're showing too much faith in our assumptions. I wonder what else we're missing?'

'My lord,' Kodos said carefully, 'I know it's not my place, but…' He trailed off.

'Skak your place,' Lakon said. 'Spit it.'

'The overall battle plan depends on the Guard, doesn't it?'

'We're not expecting anything from the infantry, if that's what you mean. I'll be happy if any of them show up, to be honest.'

'But the artillery are critical.'

'Yes. We need the Basilisks, to thin the bugs out. At the moment we're outnumbered eight thousand to one-'

'That's gone up.'

'New images,' Lakon replied. 'The weather's a bit better. The horde's swollen. Seems it's sucking in every bug for miles around. Anyway, if we can cut that down to a few hundred to one then we can manage.'

Kodos patted the butt of his pistol. 'I'll take a few hundred Nids any day.'

'I'm sure you will, Sergeant. My point is, no-one's planning anything on the assumption of any help from the Guard infantry.'

'And the PDF?'

Lakon shrugged. 'A non-issue. The surviving regiments are mostly trying to hold the Shervan Delta. That's over a thousand clicks away. They won't be here – they _can't_ be here.'

'And the Octalian troops?'

'We're garrisoning the north with them.'

'Couldn't they be used more?'

'No.' Lakon shook his head. 'They're better fighters than the locals, and they're braver – but they're not Ravens. Frankly, I think we may have asked too much of them as it is. This isn't really their fight, and it never was. The Octalian formations are at breaking point. They've been going on as long as we have, don't forget. If we're to have any use out of them in the future, they need some respite.'

Kodos nodded with reluctance. 'I suppose that's true.'

'So, everything rests on the Guard artillery.'

'When do they start arriving?'

'The latest schedule says this afternoon,' Lakon said. 'Right here...' He pointed to one of the maps on the table, then stopped. 'Right where that big fat blob of wax is, in fact.'

'Great. So even the candle's got it in for us?'

Lakon tried to pick the thing up. It had stuck itself to the map. It lifted half off the table. With a rustle of paper, a cascade of documents slithered to the muddy floor.

Lakon let loose a string of profanities.

Kodos lifted up the tent flap. He blinked briefly in the brighter light, then signalled to a passing Chapter serf. 'You. Get this stuff of the floor for us.'

The man twitched, surprised, but threw off a passable salute. 'Yes sir.' He ducked into the tent and set about clearing up the mess.

'I was going to point out a location seven hundred metres north of here,' Lakon explained.

'Is that where the Guard are going?'

Lakon nodded. 'Yes. It's got a ridge and good sightlines. There aren't any trees to get in the way. It's behind our lines, so it shouldn't have any attacks – oh, skak.'

'There's our assumption,' Kodos said.

'So it is.' Lakon looked frustrated. 'What's the betting the hive mind's guessed our strategy?'

'I'd give you about evens on that,' Kodos said. He glanced at the map. 'And I notice those woods we were at earlier – the north end is just below that ridge. Don't quote me on this, but that's where our tunnel'll be.'

Lakon sighed. 'I have a horrible feeling you might be right.'

'So … when do the artillery show up?'

'The schedule's advanced. They're due at 1530 this afternoon.'

'Thank the Emperor for that.'

Lakon nodded. 'But it puts us on a schedule. We need the Nids rooted out by then. And it's 1240 now.'

'Skak. Well, with your permission, I'll take my squad out there right now. We'll get to scouting the area. Since we're here right now, we might as well.'

Lakon nodded. 'I can get some extra help for you. Not much, but we'll have to make do.'

* * *

A roughly-triangular shadow appeared on the ground. Engines growled. A grey landspeeder dropped in next to Alaster. Literally next to him – the wing was a foot behind him and he could reach out and touch the side of the cockpit. As precision flying went, it was impressive.

He managed not to start too visibly.

'What-?'

'Hello,' said the Space Marine sat inside the cockpit next to him. 'Remember us?'

Alaster stared at the grey helmet, glad that the other marine couldn't see his own perplexity.

Hang on. Grey armour – Space Wolves, then. Einar Thorbjornsson's, obviously. And a Mark Six helmet, Alaster noted. And a running wolf on the marine's breastplate-

'Haakon!'

'Well he remembers you,' Eirik said grumpily, from Haakon's other side.

'And you owe me a flagon of ale,' Haakon added cheerfully. To Alaster he said, 'Eirik didn't think you'd recognise us. I said never bet against your allies.'

The squad was briefly back at the camp. No sooner had they done disarming the bomb then Kodos had felt it was time for Lakon to be informed. They'd been waiting at the edge of the tents.

Nasty and Patreus were suddenly at Alaster's side.

'Hey, it's good to see you!' Nasty said.

'You too. I see you've still got the axe.'

Nasty brandished it with enthusiasm. 'I'm not losing this!'

'I hope you've been putting it to good use.'

'It's split plenty of bug-heads, if that counts?'

Haakon laughed. 'It'll do.'

Nearby, the flaps of a tent swirled. Kodos marched out. He strode over. His shadow preceded him on the churned soil. He took in the landspeeder without any apparent surprise. 'Good,' he said. 'We've got another little job to do.' He nodded at the landspeeder. 'And some reinforcements to help us out.'

'Hi,' Eirik said. 'Don't mind us. It's not like we were doing anything important.'

'Somewhere near where the artillery are going, there's a bug hole,' Kodos explained. 'We need to find it.' There was a meltabomb hung from his belt. He patted it. His gauntlet _clink_ed against the dull metal. 'And do a bit of landscaping, if you take my meaning.'

'That's how they got into the wood, isn't it?' Alaster asked, comprehension dawning.

Kodos nodded. 'Snuck from the hole to the trees – yes. So no-one saw them.'

'Bad bugs,' Haakon put in. 'No biscuit.'

'Anyway,' Kodos said, 'we need to move. Now.'

A short flight ensued. They quickly found themselves approaching the ridge. 'Look!' Sandrer said. 'They're already there!'

'Skak,' Kodos muttered. 'They're early!'

And they were, too. Guardsmen were swarming over the grass, setting up. Alaster could see mortars and gun emplacements. Behind them big artillery pieces were being assembled. Gun barrels were being checked and readied. Ammunition was being unloaded from trucks. The ridge was a mass of activity. Further back tents were being erected.

'How did that happen?' Eirik asked.

'We'd better drop in,' Haakon said.

'I agree,' Kodos said.

The marines dropped in at the edge of the growing encampment. Their presence elicited less attention then it would anywhere else. A few of the Guard had a look, but they had plenty of other things to do.

A few quick questions from Kodos got the location of the commander here. The colonel, it turned out, was far too busy to speak to them but one of his sub-alterns apparently had time. The marines found themselves stood outside an olive-grey tent, feeling somewhat out of place amidst the sea of identically-uniformed Guardsmen. Haakon and Eirik took the landspeeder back up above the camp, patrolling around the ridge.

After a surprisingly-long wait, the designated officer put in an appearance. He came out of the tent, apparently still in the process of clipping his moustache. Alaster found himself watching the spectacle with a growing feeling of disbelief. What was happening? The man didn't even look at Kodos – he just carried on peering into his portable mirror, snipping away with a small pair of scissors. He didn't smell of blood or sweat. Instead he smelt of fine unguents and expensive aftershave. Alaster also noted a suspicious lack of anything even dimly resembling scar tissue. Inside his helmet, the Space Marine frowned. Since when did an Imperial officer look like a court fop who'd never been shot at?

'What?' the man asked, not even looking up from his snipping

'We have a message for whoever's in charge here,' Kodos said bluntly, 'assuming they have the time to take it, of course.' There was an edge in his voice.

The officer appeared not to notice. 'We are so busy, as you might see,' he said, snipping away.

'You're early,' Kodos noted. 'We weren't expecting you for a couple more hours.'

The man shrugged. 'We made better time then we expected.' _Snip_, _snip_ went the blades of the scissors.

'It'd be useful if we got to hear these things.'

'We had a lot of preparation to do, on the way down. The vox wasn't the highest priority. Is that all you're here for?'

'No. Just some information to pass on.'

'Oh. What are you complaining about, then?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Well, if you haven't called in to tell us something we should know, how can you complain at us? Typical Marine behaviour. You expect everything but offer nothing in return. You're not above the rules, you know. However much you might think you are.'

Kodos was quiet for a moment. Then: 'Well, since we're here, would you like to hear what we have to say – or not?'

_Snip_, _snip_.

The man shrugged. 'To be honest, I doubt it's that important.' He waved his scissors. 'I was rather busy. It is so important to maintain an authoritative personal appearance, you know.' He looked pointedly at Kodos's breastplate. 'If you walk around with your uniform covered in dents, however can your men respect you?' He smirked. Alaster could barely believe this performance. The casual rudeness was breathtaking. What was more, it was delivered with a maddeningly-calm arrogance. Before anyone could say anything else, the man spoke again. 'Well, if you must hang around, spit it out. What is this dazzling revelation?'

'You'd be advised,' Kodos said, 'to mount patrols. There've been reports of Nid activity in this area.'

_Snip_. Finally the man paused his trimming. He held the mirror and the scissors away from his face. There was cynical scorn in his eyes. 'Rubbish. There are no Nids here.'

'I beg your pardon?' The edge in Kodos' voice was an angry one now.

'I said-'

'We saw them ourselves,' Kodos cut in. 'Not an hour ago.'

The officer shrugged. 'Why are you standing here then, sergeant?'

Kodos was silent for a moment. 'Because, if you hadn't noticed, we're trying to give you some warning.'

'If you'd done your job in the first place,' the man said with a complacent sneer, 'we wouldn't need "warning" as you put it.'

Alaster realised his hand was on his chainsword. The other Ravens were all reaching for their guns, he noticed. Kodos looked at them. 'Stand down!' he barked. He looked back at the subaltern. 'And what was that meant to mean, Second Lieutenant?'

The man twitched, as if a blow had finally landed. '_First_ Lieutenant,' he growled. 'And you were supposed to be holding the Gap. If the Bugs have got through, it means you haven't. _Sergeant_.'

Kodos was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'Well. See that your master knows, Guardsman.'

This time the man jerked. His brows clenched with anger. His fingers spasmed. The scissors fell unnoticed to the floor. 'How dare-'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' Kodos said with false reasonableness. 'The uniform confused me. I assumed you were an office of the Imperial Guard, hence my referring to you as such. But if you're some random off the street instead…?'

The man was staring with flat hate now. 'I think you should take your leave, Sergeant,' he said.

'If you insist,' Kodos said. 'But make sure your master gets his message.' Without a further word he fired his jump pack. The squad followed.

As the tent dwindled beneath them, Alaster let out the breath he'd been holding onto. He knew, of course, that these sorts of feuds sometimes happened. Defending the Imperium was a stressful business under any circumstances, let alone ones like these, and it was no surprise that tempers could rise. That little display, however, had been truly petty. How did someone that unreasonable make it through the day?

'If I see him in a bug's mouth,' Nasty said suddenly, 'I won't do a damned thing. Chomp, chomp, problem solved.'

'Brother Sandy,' Kodos said, 'you will do whatever you're skakking told. Even if that does include rescuing that fool.'

'It'd be worth it,' Eorvan put in, 'to see his face when he has to thank a Marine. I reckon it'd stick in his craw.'

There was a grumble of engines. The landspeeder drew alongside. 'Hello,' Haakon said. 'We saw all of that. Well done on not scragging that bastard, Kodos.'

'Yes,' Eirik added, 'I don't think my bolter would suffer an insult like that.'

'He obviously has a problem with Space Marines,' Kodos said carefully, 'and for all we actually know, there might be something behind it. Let's face it, some of our forces haven't behaved too well over the last few months.'

'We all know about the Blueys,' Haakon put in.

'I don't want to start a blood feud with our allies,' Kodos said. 'And I particularly don't if it's possible we're just reaping something we've sown.'

'Like what, exactly?' demanded Sandrer. 'Sergeant, he used your title like it was an insult.'

Kodos sighed. 'It's a problem with some Guard officers. Because he's a lieutenant and I'm a sergeant, he thinks he outranks me. It probably frustrates him that he can't give marines orders, the way he's used to. Probably feels it's an inversion of the natural order, or something. What he doesn't see, of course, is the centuries of experience or the things I've had to take down. And if he's lucky, he never will see any of the latter.'

''Specially not if they get behind him,' Eirik put in. 'Splat!' Haakon laughed.

'So what are we going to do?' Alaster asked.

'What we planned in the first place,' Kodos replied. 'Scout the area. Try and find the tunnel.'

'Do you think he'll tell the colonel?'

'I assume so. He's asserted his perceived authority now. Once he calms down he'll see sense.'

'And if he doesn't?'

'Then the bugs eat a few Guardsmen. And later on an investigation happens. And his malfeasance comes to light. And then he goes on gallows leave. No, he'll tell the colonel. I'm sure he understands enlightened self-interest, if maybe not much else. He'll make sure his arse is covered.'

Nasty snorted a laugh. 'He _is_ an arse.'

'On a practical level,' Kodos said, 'we'll start our search over by the woods. I'm guessing that's most likely where the tunnel is. Shortest distance and all of that.'

They flew over to the woods. The ridge gave way with a steep slope, down to thickets of bushes and shrubs near its base. The trees started a short way back. They were some small ponds, presumably formed of rainfall runoff from the slope. In places it was muddy underfoot.

Unlike much of the rest of Riothria, here the vegetation seemed relatively healthy. Alaster noticed they were sheltered from the wind here behind the ridge, but it was also south-facing. Even this near the equator, that would make a difference. Possibly this explained the continued survival of the vegetation.

The small force split itself into three parts – the Space Wolves with the landspeeder and the two fireteams. They each took a different third of the interface between ridge and forest. That way it shouldn't take too long to scour. Due to the dense foliage, they'd have to do their scouting from the ground. It would be too easy to miss a small opening while passing above. Alaster, Patreus and Nasty had the furthest of the three segments.

They started without further delay.

A few minutes after, muddy ground squished under Alaster's boot.

'Hey, try and be quieter!' Nasty said. 'Every Nid in the woods must have heard that noise!'

They were at the bottom of the slope. The grassy bank rose up to their left. At Alaster's right were the first shrubs and, not far behind, the densely-packed trees trunks. Leafy canopies rose above. Somewhere in there, a bird was tweeting.

In their immediate vicinity, the ground was boggy. Right before Alaster was a big puddle, at least ten feet across. It was several inches deep in places. Rippling reflections of the Ravens and their surroundings swirled on its surface. Alaster's boot had partly sunk into the mud right at the edge.

Alaster looked at it. 'There's plenty more where that came from.' Carefully he withdrew his feet. The mud made a quiet sucking sound. Brown water swirled into the depression.

Patreus, oddly enough, was looking intently at one of the trees. 'They don't look tropical,' he noted. 'It's not a jungle, like that place back on Delta. You know, the training camp.'

'That's weird,' Nasty said. 'Aren't we near the equator?'

Alaster hesitated. 'I gather it's not the same here. There are cold currents in the seas near here, and strong winds, you know, higher up in the air. They take a lot of heat away from here, and the ocean currents cool things down. It doesn't get so warm at the equator on Minoris. I think they said just an even twenty-five degrees, not the thirty or forty you'd get on Delta. But on the other hand, because so much heat's going north and far south, it doesn't get too cold up there either.'

'We've been all over this planet,' Patreus noted, 'and I haven't seen anything like tundra, I suppose.'

'There were polar caps,' Nasty said stubbornly. 'All the pictures had them.'

'And you only look at the pictures, don't you?' Patreus said teasingly. 'I mean, that reading thing … that'd be a bit much, wouldn't it?'

Alaster felt the need to intervene. 'There are polar caps,' he explained, 'but they're small. In a way, I guess it's why the impact winter's been so bad. The stuff that lives here just isn't used to big temperature changes.'

Nasty snorted. 'So the planet's weak as well. Well that explains a bit.'

'It's not like home,' Patreus said.

'No. And why would it be? Look how different they are, just around Octalis.'

'I wonder if it's anything like Terra?' Nasty said suddenly. 'Or was, I mean.'

Patreus stared at him. 'Wow. That actually sounded like a thought just happened there. You're spending too much time around Brother Alaster, Nasty. You've been infected.'

Alaster ignored Patreus. 'To a point,' he supposed. 'I mean, people can live here – the air isn't poisoning them and the gravity doesn't skak up their bones, or anything like that. Or at least, not much.'

'Not much?' Nasty asked.

'The life expectancy is decades, not minutes,' Alaster clarified.

'It can't all be roses,' Nasty said.

'It can be but I'm sure there are still thorns,' Alaster agreed.

'What?' Nasty sounded confused. 'The planet has thorns?'

It took Alaster a moment to realise that Nasty hadn't understood his metaphor. 'No – not literally. What I meant is, there will be illnesses. Odd things you get here and nowhere else. Because there's something in the air or the soil that isn't quite right. They do screen planets for these things, but there's only so much you can control for.'

'Well I'm glad our home system isn't like that.'

Alaster laughed. 'Are you joking?'

Nasty paused and looked at him. 'So there is something wrong?'

'Lots of things wrong. You remember Gamma, right? Not remotely enough water, and not really enough air. Just look at the populations. More than three hundred times as many people live on Delta. That's not a healthy sign.'

'Eta always looks pretty in the pictures.'

'Are you kidding? It hits minus thirty in the winters. And that's near the equator. A third of its surface is ice. It's only habitable at all because there's crap in the air, keeping the heat in. The trees can't flush it through properly – there's not enough of them, with so much ice on the land. Loads of people there have lung problems. And with all that permafrost, the farming isn't so good.'

'I thought all the rich people live there,' Patreus said.

'Sure, the rich all go there for their chalets and winter holidays but they all have air units plugged in the ceilings, flushing out the excess cee-oh-two. Again, look at the populations. It's still better than Gamma, but "better" is still only a few hundred million. I mean, it looks pretty in the holos, with all the mountains and the snow, but there's serious downsides to all that too.'

'Well Delta's okay.'

'No it isn't.'

'Isn't it?'

Alaster shook his head. 'Okay, the air's clean, there's enough water and it's not too hot and not too cold. But there's other stuff as well. Do you remember those pills they give you at school, you know, the little grey ones?'

'Oh, I know those!' Patreus put in. 'We got them at the monastery. I bit one once. It was disgusting.'

'They're supplements of something called potassium,' Alaster explained. 'The whole Octalian System is deficient in it. Apparently if you don't get enough of it, it does something to your nerves. Makes you retarded or something.'

'You seem to know a lot about it.'

'I spent half an hour a day for an entire year filing reports on potassium shipments. The Administratum took it pretty seriously. The shipments cost the government sixteen billion a year. The Assembly had a special budget for it.'

Nasty was quiet for a time. Then he said: 'We never got those at any schools I went to.'

'You went to school?' Patreus sounded surprised.

'Yeah, briefly. Six of 'em.'

'Six?'

'Yeah, got thrown out of each of them.'

'You've really done the rounds, haven't you?'

'Yeah. And I never saw no pills.' Nasty was quiet for a moment. 'I wonder if that's why there were so many thick kids around.'

'Well, maybe that explains a bit about you,' Patreus said.

'Oi!' Nasty said. 'That was mean!' He grabbed up a small pebble and threw it at Patreus. Patreus batted it aside without a second glance.

Alaster looked at Nasty. 'There were oddities in the balances,' he said.

'What do you mean?'

'The budget was projected to cover costs for the whole population … but it never quite did. There were always shortfalls. They said it was down to exchange rates and tariffs and price fluctuations, but I did always wonder.'

'Wonder what?' Patreus asked.

'There were people at the office on the fiddle,' Alaster said, uncomfortable memories bubbling up. 'Petty things, like claiming their taxis on the expenses. You can sort of see why they did it. The Administratum has job security but it's not that well-paid.'

'What, service is it's own reward?' Nasty asked in a snarky tone.

'That's what they'd say,' Alaster agreed.

'That's what they tell us,' Patreus pointed out.

'Yeah, but we don't have rent or water and gas bills as well. Or healthcare. Our material needs are met. We don't ever need to worry about stuff like that. Whereas in the world of work … one badly-timed illness can ruin you, unless you're in with your boss and he holds your job for you. You can see why people might be tempted to cook the books. I don't like it, but you can see why it happens. Frankly, if they paid the lower staff a sensible wage, there'd be less temptation to fiddle.'

'Yeah but try getting that past the voters at an election,' Patreus observed. 'Payrises for bureaucrats.'

There was silence for a moment. A bird twittered somewhere in the bushes. 'So what about the pills?' Nasty said at last.

'I wondered if some of the budget was being stolen,' Alaster said in a rush.

'Oh, surprise, surprise.' Nasty was sarcastic. 'That'd be the newsflash of the week, that would.'

Patreus shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. 'And of course the place the money would go from is lower down the scale. The bottom-levelled families. Who have fewer votes and worse jobs and fewer opportunities. The ones who can't kick up as much fuss. And probably the people who need it the most. Brothers, I think we've just spotted a hole in Delta's social system.'

'Uh,' Nasty said gently, 'it's not exactly news.'

Alaster nodded. 'Yeah. People've been writing books about this sort of thing for centuries.'

'Then … why hasn't anything been done?' Patreus sounded frustrated. 'It isn't right.'

'It's not that easy to clean up,' Alaster explained, feeling uncomfortable. 'There are a lot of planets in the Imperium. There's no one source for the goods. Many of them do have tariffs and prices do fluctuate. To clean the system up completely you'd need to account for all of that stuff. And have perfect foreknowledge of what the system'll do in the future. Only then could you definitely identify the fraud. And that's impossible. Of course you can get the more blatant offenders. And the less cautious. And you can make examples of them and try and discourage others. But you can never root it out absolutely. I guess it's the old problem of being finite human beings, really.'

'Speak for yourself,' Nasty grumbled.

Feeling a bit lame, Alaster decided to try and wrap it up. 'I guess we just have to try and manage, really, as best we can. Things are never going to be perfect.'

Nasty looked in his direction. Alaster suspected he might be glaring inside his helmet. 'Easy for you to say. You weren't on the receiving end.'

Alaster rapped his knuckles on the eagle on his breastplate. 'We all are, now.'

Patreus was staring off to the side. 'Hey,' he said, 'talking of things being imperfect – is it just me or does that bush look weird?'

He was pointing further down the hillside. There was a single bush, sprouting from the hillside. It was a fat, bulbous thing. Small, pointy leaves sprouted from its branches. They were a greyish-green in colour. The bush was fat but it was casting a very large shadow.

Hang on. The shadow was too large.

'There's a hole behind it,' Alaster realised.

It took but moments to ascertain the truth. There was indeed a big, gaping hole next to the bush. Most of it was covered by the dense foliage. That was why it hadn't been seen from the air. The rest of the discolouration would probably just be written off as dropped leaves from the plant or something.

The three Ravens found themselves grouped around the hole. It was quickly revealed that the hole sank back into the ridge.

'It's going the wrong way,' Nasty said.

'I suspect it turns,' Alaster said. 'Let's have a look. Patreus, wait here and watch the entrance. Nasty, you're with me.'

The hole was just big enough to fit a fully-armed Space Marine. Given that it had to accommodate two of them, this was probably just as well. Loose soil and a few dead leaves crunched under their boots as they entered. It quickly darkened inside. The entrance remained as a bright circle behind them. The tunnel was cool and damp. The air smelt of soil and mouldy roots.

Alaster had to be careful where he put his feet. The crown of his jump pack kept scraping the ceiling, resulting in small showers of loose earth.

'What's that?' Nasty pointed at something ahead of them.

Alaster looked at it. It looked a bit like a rib, a sort of bony arch. It was embedded in the floor, its two ribs curving together at the ceiling. The ribs had cilia, resembling roots, threading into the floor. It looked like it had grown in place.

'A ceiling prop,' Alaster said. 'I think.' Whether it was that or something else, it was obviously Tyranid in origin. It just didn't look like anything any sort of human being might make.

Nasty reached for his pistol.

'Stop,' Alaster said. 'We don't want to bring the ceiling down on us, do we?'

'Oh.' Nasty sounded slightly abashed. 'Hey, look at that!' He gestured to the floor.

Alaster looked. Sunk into the compacted soil below was a footprint. Or perhaps a pawprint – Alaster wasn't sure which was more appropriate. What wasn't in doubt was its origin.

'Genestealers,' he said. 'So they were here, then. Presumably this is how the Gargoyles came through too. They must've crawled or something.'

They moved slightly further down the tunnel, passing a couple more of the props. They came to a bend in the tunnel. It curved off to the side and downwards.

'There's your answer,' Alaster said. 'It does indeed turn. I suppose it must run all the way back under the river and out onto the other side of the mountains. I suppose they curved it so they could hide the opening in the side of the bank.'

'Why here?' Nasty asked. 'Why not closer to the lake?'

Alaster hesitated. 'Maybe they were trying to scout our lines as well. Kill two birds with one stone. Mine the dam and get a look at what we were doing.'

'Do you think we should go on?'

'Are you mad? I might be fearless but I'm not stupid. No, the sensible course is get the meltas off Kodos and bring down the corridor. We know where it goes. Nothing to be gained by blundering around in the dark.'

'Fair point.' Nasty paused. 'Is it just me or can I hear something?'

'I don't know – can you?' Alaster listened in all the same. Now that Nasty mentioned it, there was a faint noise. A sort of rhythmic throbbing, very quiet. He rested a hand on one of the earthen walls of the corridor. Yes, he could feel it, just a little. 'Yeah, there is something.'

'Wonder what it is?'

'I wonder if it's one of the machines up with the Guard? The sound might go a way, you know, through the ground.'

Nasty considered that for a moment. 'Okay, I suppose that's what it must be. Let's get back.'

A short while later, they emerged back into the welcome daylight. Leaves were rustling in the breeze and some more birds were chirping away somewhere in the undergrowth. The freshness of the air was a welcome change from the close, underground scent.

'What did you find?' Patreus asked.

'It's empty now, but it's definitely buggy,' Alaster replied. 'On that note, let's fetch Kodos.'

The sergeant and the rest of the force arrived shortly. Alaster briefly explained what they'd seen. Kodos merely nodded. He didn't consider the sounds significant either. 'Best to collapse it near the turn, then,' he said. 'If we weaken the props after that, they should come down easily enough.'

Weakening the props turned out to consist of spitting on them. The bony substance they were made of was acid-resistant but only to a point. A certain amount of hissing and fizzing later and a visible sag developed in each strut. It might not have eaten clean through them, but the acid did weaken them.

Finally the meltabomb was placed in the corridor, at the bend. Kodos thumbed its little timer and they quickly retreated, back out of the tunnel.

Moments later there was a rumble. A puff of dust erupted from the tunnel. Then, almost gently, the grass above sagged down. Displaced soil grumbled down. An overspill dribbled out of the tunnel mouth. And that was it. The Tyranid tunnel was plugged.

'That was a bit anticlimactic,' Sandrer commented.

'Well what were you expecting?' Kodos asked. 'The entire hill to go boom? No lads, this will do. It's sealed now.'

Nasty walked over to the mound of displaced earth. He squatted down, resting a hand on it. 'Hey, I can still feel that rumbling!' he said.

'You must be imagining it,' Alaster said. 'Get up.'

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'We need to head back.' He looked at the landspeeder, hovering nearby. 'Haakon, Eirik, thanks for your help. I owe you one, although it looks like we didn't need you this time.'

Haakon's beaky helmet aimed itself at the hill. It tilted to one side, as if considering something. 'Hang on,' he said.

'What is it, Brother?'

Haakon vaulted out of the landspeeder. He landed on the ground with a thud. He tugged off his helmet and squatted down. Long locks of hair fell past his face. He put an ear to the ground, looking increasingly disturbed. After a moment, he looked up. 'That's not Guard machinery, Brothers,' he said. 'Someone's drilling up.'

'What?' Kodos sounded surprised. 'Up? Where from?'

'If I had to guess,' Haakon said, 'somewhere under there!' He pointed at the ridge.

A horrible realisation hit Alaster. 'The tunnel. It was empty and unguarded.'

'Oh skak,' Kodos said. 'They've moved on!'

'We need to warn the Guard,' Eorvan said.

Haakon retrieved his helmet and climbed back into the landspeeder. His harness clicked back into place. The landspeeder rose.

The assault marines followed it. The ridge dropped below them. Afternoon sunlight was washing over it. The Guard were still busy setting up.

'The colonel's tent is over there,' Kodos said, pointing. 'I don't care if he thinks he's too busy – he's going to have to find time!'

They flew toward the camp.

Grass was undulating in the wind below them when everything went wrong. Fegust saw it first. 'Look!' he shouted, gesturing wildly.

Near one of the Guard tents, the grass was rippling. It was literally rippling, like a stone dropped into a pond. Some immense force was rhythmically smashing into it from below. Alaster watched in horror as a puzzled Guardsman stopped nearby. The man was carrying a shell. Zooming his eyelenses in, Alaster could see the confusion on the man's face as he looked at the grass. Alaster could almost imagine what was running through the man's head. Grass wasn't meant to ripple! And what was this thrumming he could feel through his feet?

A conical mound of distorted earth rose. Suddenly it split. A fountain of loose pebbles and torn roots spewed up. The tip of the Nid boring creature erupted into the sunlight.

The Guardsman stared in horror at the thing. It was a sort of bony cone, like the material of the props. It was lined with sharp, curving protrusions. Presumably they were the digging surfaces. From the shape of the thing, it looked like it dug through rotation, boring the soil away. With another powerful thrust, the alien cone burst further through the soil. Now there was more than two metres of it, sticking up into the air.

Alaster willed his jump pack to move faster, but to no response. The fans were spinning as hard as they could already.

The cone twitched. Then it split open, like an obscene flower. Three long, petal-like segments slumped to the ground. For an instant, it looked to Alaster like some sort of inverse drop pod. He realised the comparison was apt.

Genestealers came boiling out.

The staring Guardsman was dead an instant later. He was rent apart crotch to neck by a single slash of powerful claws. Red blood fountained onto the grass. The Genestealers plunged into the nearby tent.

'Skak – there's more of them!' Patreus was pointing.

Across the ridge, other borers were bursting from the ground. Shouts, screams and gunfire could be heard from everywhere.

Within moments, the orderly camp was reduced to bloody chaos.

From the western side there came an enormous explosion. Mud, grass and bodies were hurled into the air. A ball of sooty flame expanded behind them. Some panicky fire had ignited an ammo dump.

To the east some tents were already aflame. Burning figures ran helplessly from them, straight into the claws of the waiting Genestealers.

Moments later, the Space Marines plunged into the fight.

They did what they could, but it was brutal, close-quarters work. The Genestealers had the advantage of speed. They were everywhere. The Guard command structure appeared to have collapsed. There was no sign of control or direction to the masses of fleeing soldiers.

For an acid moment, Alaster wondered how many of the officers had been moustache-trimming when the attack happened.

The marines lent what assistance they could. Every moment consisted of hacking and slashing at masses of alien attackers. Hardly a second seemed to go by without the roar of a bolt pistol or the hiss-crackle of Kodos' plasma pistol. The landspeeder jumped back and forth, dumping concentrated fire into masses of bugs, then springing back from their claws.

The Space Marines started at one end of the camp and worked their way through. It was slow, bloody fighting. A Genestealer's skull cracked here, a claw dodged there. Slowly they moved through the smoke and the confusion, cutting down every alien they came across.

Whenever they passed a boring-creature, a grenade was tossed down its mouth. It was a temporary measure, but it should slow any reinforcements. On several occasions, Alaster had the satisfaction of watching a fountain of torn Tyranid remains spout from the lips of two different holes.

They fought well and they fought hard. However, it was clear from the start that this was a losing battle. Even as the Genestealers were driven back, it was clear that they were succeeding in their mission. Butchered soldiers lay everywhere, mangled guts and torn scraps of uniforms littering the ground. The Genestealers' objective had never been to survive or to take this ground. Instead, it had simply been to wreck the artillery encampment.

They had succeeded marvellously.

As well as slaughter every man they met, the Genestealers had attacked the big guns themselves. Alaster walked past a broken basilisk, flames rising from its fuel tank. Fuel had spilt everywhere. In the intense heat of the fire, the barrel was sagging. The metal had been weakened. It would never speak again.

Slowly, the marines fought their way to the other side of the camp. They managed to martial the few Guard survivors that they met, organising them into something resembling a firing line. With some support from the soldiers, they finally cleansed the last tent of the aliens.

Alaster found himself stood there, staring at the carnage all around. The ridge had gone from a tranquil grassland to a hellish scene of death. Fires rose everywhere. Thick plumes of smoke drifted into the sky. Collapsed tents were strewn around. Broken tables and chairs emerged from a few. And everywhere there was blood. Blood and death.

With his training and his conditioning, Alaster was able to face this scene of horror without total paralysis. Rather the emotional side of his mind simply shut itself down, waiting for the cues to re-emerge from its shell. He looked dispassionately at the wreckage. He would, of course, be appalled by all this later. But the time for that would be after the battle's end.

Others were not so fortunate. Nearby a young soldier, a Minorian conscript by the looks of him, was sat on the ground. His lasrifle was on the grass in front of him. The man – who was really not that much more than a boy – was crying his eyes out. Clearly the butchery around them was more than he could handle. Nearby lay the mangled corpse of a genestealer. Alaster had shot it seconds before it would have decapitated the young Guardsman. The man had heard the bang, spun round, seen the dead alien, yelped in fear and then had collapsed onto the grass.

Alaster looked at him, noting their different reactions. Just for a moment, it brought home to him just how much he'd changed, or had been changed. Just for a second he felt like more of an alien than the dead monster on the ground.

Then he shook it off and went back to work.

It was all over a few minutes later. The marines threw the remaining Guard shells into the open tunnels. Grenades were used as detonators. The resulting explosions made the tunnels collapse and cave in. The ridge found itself pockmarked with several deep, conical craters.

Still the smoke rose.

Kodos surveyed the scene. 'Well,' he said, 'that's the artillery done for.'

'Where does this leave us, Sergeant?' Alaster asked.

'Up skak lane,' Kodos replied grimly.

At that moment, Lakon's voice crackled over the public channel. 'Sergeant Kodos! What in the Emperor's name is happening over there?'

Kodos sighed. 'Nothing good, Captain. Seems the Nids had a little plan for our artillery.'

'Report. We can see a lot of smoke. And we heard shooting. What's the status of the artillery?'

'Gone. Every gun barrel's damaged. None of them look usable. And we've only got two dozen survivors from the crews.'

Lakon was silent for a moment. Then he let loose with a string of profanities. 'You did warn them, right?'

'Yes. And no-one wanted to know.'

'And they know now,' Lakon said. 'And – hang on, what the holy skak is this?' There was a pause. 'Terra's skakking fields. They're moving. The Nids are moving!'

'On the other side of the Gap?'

'That's right. Skak me, there's millions of the bastards! We're just getting satellite footage in – real-time. It looks like a carpet, flowing up the mountainside.'

'What about our forces there?'

'I'm pulling them back. We need them here – there's skak all they can do on their own against that lot.'

Sandrer looked around. Nid ichor was splashed all over his armour. 'We're screwed, aren't we?' he said in a resigned tone. He wasn't addressing anyone in particular.

'We can slow them down a bit,' Patreus said. 'That's got to count for something, right? That'll give other people time to do … something.'

'Like what, exactly?' Nasty said. 'And just in case the brain trust over there hadn't noticed – that'll be other people. Not. Us.'

'You lot,' Alaster said suddenly. 'Quit it. This isn't the time.' He'd gone from unemotional to angry horror. How could this be happening? They were about to lose! Everything had been under control this morning! How could it have changed so fast?

The landspeeder dropped in nearby. 'We heard all that,' Eirik put in grimly. 'Oh well. It'll be a saga-worthy last stand, I suppose. I'll buy you all a pint in the Emperor's Halls.'

' "The Emperor trusts that every Space Marine will do his duty",' Haakon quoted from somewhere. 'And it looks like today is the day. So be it then. I'll bring no dishonour on the Wolves.'

'Nor I,' Haakon agreed.

Alaster found his eyes tracking toward the silvery line of the river, visible through the smoke in the distance. He shook his head, trying to focus his attention on the matter at hand. This wasn't a time to go drifting off!

'Should we rush them?' Kodos suggested to Lakon. 'One big push, break their momentum?'

'That'd only work if we could catch them right at the Gap itself,' Lakon replied, 'where they're packed together. And we'd need every single marine. We can't get everyone there in time. It's a run uphill, in case you'd forgotten. No. Our only chance is to make a stand of it, here on this side of the valley.'

Alaster could see the problem. Main force had been the plan all along. And main force had just failed, spectacularly. Only it was looking like there wasn't any backup strategy.

His eyes drifted toward the river again. He found them tracking along it. He could just see the dam, before the foliage of the intervening wood obscured it.

The dam.

An idea exploded into his brain.

'-hopeless,' Kodos was saying, 'then so be it. If we must go down, we'll go down like Ravens.' He sounded determined, in a cold sort of way.

'Hang on,' Alaster said suddenly, on the public channel. 'I've got an idea.'

Kodos's eyelenses glowered at him. 'Oh do you know?'

'Wait,' Lakon's voice crackled over the earphones. 'We may as well hear it.'

'The dam – did anyone defuse the actual mines?'

Lakon hesitated. Then: 'No, Brother Raven. We haven't had time yet.'

'Then we can take the dam out.'

Haakon asked, 'How does that help?'

'Do it at just the right moment and we can drown the Nids,' Alaster said. 'That's what they were planning to do to us, wasn't it?'

There was a moment of silence. Then Lakon said, 'By the Emperor, he might be onto something!'

'It would take careful timing,' Kodos said.

'It's better than anything else we can think of,' Lakon replied. 'All right, do it. I'll spread the word to the other commanders. You need to get to the dam ASAP. Do whatever's necessary to blow those mines. But wait for my word. We need it to be when the main force is entering the valley. They need to be committed.'

'We'll take you,' Haakon said. 'The landspeeder can go faster than your packs. Climb on.'

There was only room for a few of the marines. Alaster found himself clinging to one of the wings. Patreus was hanging onto the other. Nasty and Kodos had the aeroform struts at the back. Sandrer, Fegust and Eorvan were going to have to wait.

'Okay, has everyone got a good grip?' Eirik asked.

They all had.

'All right. Here goes. For Russ and the Emperor!'

The engines whined. The sound rose. The ground dropped away. The landspeeder slammed itself forward and up. A wall of air smacked into Alaster. He could hear the roar of their passage, even through his helmet. Grimly, he clung onto the wing, even as the mighty wind tried to rip him off.

They tore through the air. He caught a glimpse of their shadow, flowing over the trees below. The dam surged toward them.

'Stop one, coming up!' Eirik shouted.

They dropped down in front of the dam. At the last moment, the landspeeder growled to a halt. The dam was literally inches in front of the bumper.

'Wow,' Nasty said. 'That was quite a ride!'

'There they are!' Patreus pointed. The mines were off to their left and down a bit. Obligingly, the Wolves dropped the landspeeder a metre or so. They were now level with the mines. The things remained every bit as bulbous and ugly as they had earlier. Their shadows stretched out over the concrete.

Alaster stared at them.

'So,' Haakon asked conversationally, 'how exactly are we going to do this?'

'I was thinking just shoot them,' Alaster said. It seemed a bit inadequate. 'They don't look too stable.'

'I think we should pull back a bit,' Eirik said. 'Use the guns on the landspeeder. A couple of rounds should do it. Then the moment we're done, we jump out.'

'Why?' Nasty asked.

'Do you want the dam landing on you?' Kodos said with sarcasm.

'Oh. I suppose not, then.'

'Yeah, you look ugly enough as it is, let alone squished under a load of falling concrete.' Patreus couldn't resist getting a quick gibe in. There was the possibility that, if this went wrong, it might be his last.

'Now we wait,' Kodos said.

A tense wait for Lakon's signal ensued. There was a brief distraction while the Wolves moved the landspeeder into position. Then the marines had to settle down and wait, or at least as best they could in mid-air.

'Here they come,' Patreus said. His head was aimed at the Gap.

Haakon whistled. 'Now there is a sight you never want to see.'

'If I was drunk,' Eirik said, 'I'd blame the beer. Pity I'm not, really.'

Something was happening up at the Gap. It looked as if some vast tsunami had crashed against the other side of the mountains and was breaking through the pass. A flood – there was no other word – of raging, alien bodies was pouring out between the peaks. It flowed over every obstacle. There was sound, too. Even from here it carried. They could faintly hear the mad chittering of the millions of blood-hungry Tyranids.

'Skak me,' Nasty said quietly.

For once, Patreus missed the obvious rejoinder. But in fairness to him, Alaster noted, they were all quite distracted.

'Ring-side seat at the end of the world,' Alaster whispered.

The surge of bugs was pouring down the hillside.

Lakon's voice crackled in their ears. 'Do it when the front reaches the river.'

They were almost there.

'Now.'

The landspeeder spun, to face the dam once more. 'Grab a hold, everyone!' Haakon roared.

An instant later, in the mid-afternoon sunshine, the heavy bolter spoke. A plume of bolts hammered into the top mine-sack. It spasmed and burst. A gelatinous, greenish fluid sprayed over the ones below.

An instant later, the potent fluid suddenly noticed the oxygen in the air around it. At that very moment, the landspeeder leapt skywards. It was as well it did as a powerful chemical reaction was beginning.

The Tyranid bio-explosive was a concentrated and highly explosive material. In the arcane language of chemistry, it was 'hypergolic' – self-igniting. It was a witch's brew of hydrogen and fluorine. It was metabolised into existence inside the mine-sacks. Their spores would be pasted in place, where they would subsequently grow. The substance their glands secreted was so unstable that it couldn't be allowed existence outside the protected confines of the sacks. The globules of explosives were surrounded by sturdy membranes, of the most neutral and corrosion-resistant materials the Nids could grow. Even the smallest knock could be enough to destabilise the foul stuff. Earlier, when he had shot out the node, Kodos had come far closer then he had realised to setting off the mines. Luckily, or perhaps by benediction of the Emperor, they still hadn't been fully-grown at that point. The way to go had been small, but it had been enough to make a difference. Their deadly chemical contents had remained inactive, on that occasion. This was just as well.

Those contents could only ever be allowed to meet oxygen once.

Beneath the landspeeder, a third sun blossomed on the dam wall. For a few moments, a nightmarish strobelight shone out over the valley. It was a blindingly clear, white-hot flash. For a few instants, the temperature of the fireball was hotter than the surfaces of Riothria's twin suns.

An enormous boom shook the air itself. The landspeeder rocked violently as the pressure wave swept past. Haakon had to fight with the controls to stop them spinning from the sky. Patreus was almost knocked clean off.

Beneath them, a great crack was opening on the dam. The concrete structure had been shocked beyond its tolerances. It groaned and rumbled. Tremors rent its structure. Chunks of grey material cracked and fragmented and fell from its sides. The first exploratory spray of water seeped through the crack. The dam gave out a vast shiver.

Then it burst.

The dam tore and ruptured like tissue paper. Its stony deathscream was heard all the way across the valley. The torrent of Nids looked up in sudden confusion.

Six billion metric tons of water were suddenly unsupported.

The Ravens and the Wolves watched from the safety of the landspeeder, high above the cascade. They watch in awe as a vast, white wall of water collapsed toward the valley. There was nothing slow or gentle about its movement. It wasn't a flow. It might be liquid but there was nothing soft about it. It was instead a hammerblow, a foaming white wall of death slamming downwards and out.

The water tore apart and crushed everything before it. It sped like an eager bullet toward the Nids. The sheer, mechanical force of the collapsed reservoir was almost beyond description. It would eventually fade, seep away into the soil and subside but for mile after mile down the valley, it would leave a trail of destruction.

There was a brief moment as the closest of the Nids looked up. The foaming wave rose above them, blocking off the light of the suns. They were plunged into its shadow. Its roar was deafening. And hungry.

It fell on them.

From the landspeeder and the encampments atop the hillside, the Space Marines watched in awe. Destruction flushed out across the valley. It was as if the planet itself was claiming vengeance for the destruction the invaders had wrought upon it.

The flood surged on, through the screeching mass of Nids. The bugs turned to try and flee, but it was too late. They couldn't outrun the angry sea as it thundered toward them. Its waves fell upon them, crushing and rending and tearing.

'Wow,' Nasty breathed.

As they watched, the eager surge was destroying the mass of Nids. A few stragglers fled back toward the Gap but it was too little, too late. The major mass of their army was vanishing under the tide.

The enemy vanquished, the water surged on. Behind it the valley was flooded. The light of twin suns gleamed on the surface of the new lake. Here and there, broken bug corpses floated in the water.

'Skak me,' Kodos said quietly. 'We've won!'


	37. Chapter 37 A Deepening Shadow

In Creekside, it was late at night. Cold stars glittered down on the sleeping city. A thin stream of late-night traffic wound its way through the streets. Apart from that, the city was quiet.

Some bits were quieter than others, though.

At the State Informational Research and Archiving Sub-Bureau Number Three offices, the security guard at Reception was snoring loudly. His cap was tilted back over his head. He'd been asleep for some time. An abandoned copy of the previous day's newspaper was up on the dataslate lying in front of him.

A shadow suddenly appeared. There was a clink, as of metal on the tiled floor. The shadow settled to the ground. Anyone awake and watching would have seen an astonishing sight. A seven-foot tall figure had appeared out of nowhere. A figure with a sheathed sword hung from one side of his belt and an ancient bolter holstered on the other side. A seven-foot figure dressed in power armour, armour that was adorned with spikes and skulls and also bearing the Star of Chaos.

The security guard's snore became a snort as he almost woke. However, the sound didn't penetrate far enough into his consciousness. He slid back into deep sleep without even opening his eyes.

Phelonas considered the fool behind the long desk. A hand clenched at his side. It was so tempting to kill this snoring idiot. If nothing else, the noise he was making was offensive. So hard to resist … but resist Phelonas knew he must. The Administratum mustn't realise that they'd had a little break-in here. A corpse up front would raise eyebrows, even amongst the absolute-dimmest of the False Emperor's servants.

Phelonas moved on. The Chaos Marine was next to silent – surprisingly so considering his height and bulk. As for the security systems that recorded everything in the building – well, this time they didn't. A small invocation served to send the cameras elsewhere. Every room Phelonas entered, the cameras_ just happened_ to be pointing the wrong way to see him. By the time each one pivoted back, he was gone.

Phelonas had one hand gripped hard on the hilt of his daemon-sword. Just moments before he'd sprung up through the floor, he'd muttered two Words. One had made his body subtle. The other had invoked the thing that lived in the blade. It was bending probability, just a little. Enough that his form would not be captured on tape.

Phelonas liked his blade. The daemon-sword was so useful.

If there was one thing that sometimes irked Phelonas about other Chaos Marines, it was their lack of imagination. Of course the 'obvious' thing to do was bind a daemon of Khorne to the blade, but the obvious thing wasn't necessarily the best one. No, Phelonas had gone down a different route with this weapon. Instead he'd invoked a lesser spirit of Tzeentch. If he was going to be carrying this thing around all day, he reasoned, he wanted a bit more use out of it then just a glorified hitting-stick. The Tzeentchian daemon had its uses in combat. It had a limited grasp of the immediate future – or futures, as was the actual situation. It could see some way into the quantum fog. A split second's difference in close combat was the difference between life and death. The warnings the daemon echoed back had saved Phelonas's life on many occasions.

Most Chaos Marines, Phelonas cynically suspected, would go down the path of strength over subtlety. A Khornate sword might make the strikes harder, but he didn't consider it the best choice. The art of the blade was as much about skill as it was raw physical power.

Phelonas, of course, was not most Chaos Marines. They wouldn't be breaking into an urban office block in the early hours of the morning, either. And they certainly wouldn't be doing it in search of a few files.

Phelonas stalked through the bland, institutional corridors. He kept passing Imperial eagles, emblazoned obnoxiously on what seemed like every flat surface. The urge to desecrate them was hard to resist.

The rest of the décor was no better. How people could lower themselves to work here, he couldn't understand. Was there any limit to the indignity that humans would subject themselves to? Like most office blocks, this building had that peculiar sense of being somewhere where hope went to die. Each corridor was exactly like the previous one, aside from the signage. They all opened out onto big offices, packed to the brim with workstations and cogitators and pile after pile of useless bureaucracy. Occasional paper-drifts were strewn across the floors. Abandoned chairs sat like beached whales in the corners of some rooms. Here and there, a few desks bore some personal trinkets, as if their occupants were making a desperate attempt to exert some personality inside this soulless space. To Phelonas, these sad little efforts expressed the same effectiveness as a candle in front of a tsunami. It was clear that the Administratum had no place for individuality.

He walked on. There was no-one around. The occasional potted plant was dotted here and there. Some of them even looked healthy. He vented several choice swear-words on the architects as he ducked under a door-lintel. What was it with these humans and low ceilings? It wasn't enough for their lives to be cheap – their buildings apparently were too! He'd once heard the suggestion that the quality of a civilisation could be assessed by its architecture. If that was true, then this society was in dire straits.

That, in fairness, was not news.

Finally he found the room he was looking for. The glass-panelled door clicked shut behind him as he stepped in. Banks of cogitator-servers were sat row upon row in the air-conditioned space. Phelonas walked past them as the little coloured lights blinking on and off. Even at this hour, the vast databanks were active. Here and there the odd votive candle sat, wisps of incense-scented smoke rising in silent propitiation of the Machine-God.

Phelonas stopped in front of one of them. Inside his helmet, his cracked lips curled. The stupid ignorance of these humans! Propitiating _a machine_! It was singularly offensive! How had they allowed themselves to fall this far? Their wilful tolerance for stupidity was truly revolting.

He shuddered as an unwelcome memory of his own relation to these dumb primates bubbled up. An image of his time on Mars, one of the many disappointments he'd encountered there. The silly little candle had reminded him of the pathetic nature of humanity. He had been human himself, briefly, an absurdly long time ago. It made him feel dirty inside just thinking about it.

He paused to remind himself of his mission. With luck, that sad history wouldn't trouble him much longer. Success here would leave him a step closer to cleansing the residual human taint from himself.

Phelonas walked on, restraining the bubbling anger. A rampage here would be futile. It would be fun, but would result in no good.

Finally he was stood before one particular server.

'Got you, you little bastard,' he muttered.

He dug a dataslate from a belt pouch. Keying it into life, he activated the remote-transfer program. The access codes he had were good. The slate efficiently downloaded the encrypted data from the server. It beeped as it finished.

Phelonas had a look at the screen. Good. The data was there. It was still encrypted, with one of the Imperium's tightest ciphers. Phelonas had his own ideas about that, though.

He laid the slate on the floor. He glanced one more at a nearby votive candle, lip curling with distaste. This was the problem with the Imperium's lack of genuine understanding, he thought. It crippled them. It was all well and good as long as the holy procedures only met the situations they were written for – but if anything different happened, they would break horribly.

Phelonas looked back at the dataslate. Unlike the Imperium, he had a reasonably-clear idea of how the encryption worked. It was a mathematical problem. In its current form, there were two ways of solving it. If you had the correct keys then it was trivial. But otherwise … The other method involved brute-force computation. Hit it with combinations until random chance threw up the right one. Unfortunately, there were a lot of combinations. That way he couldn't expect a solution before Delta's sun died. But, that said, it was still ultimately a matter of chance.

Inside his helmet, Phelonas smiled.

He drew his sword. He touched the black blade gently against the dataslate. Blasphemous runes were marked down its sides. They shone with an unsteady light as the daemon stirred.

It was a Tzeentchian spirit. It was fascinated by intractable riddles, intrigues and manipulation. It loved games of the mind. It was drawn to them like a moth to a flame. There was no way it could resist this. Phelonas whispered to it, explaining his request.

The daemon purred with excitement.

Carefully, Phelonas slid his other gauntlet off. Inevitably, this would need blood. What didn't? But he was asking the daemon to do something it already wanted to – it wouldn't need very much. Just a little taste, to show willing.

He touched a finger to the sharp edge. It bit. A little trickle of red spilled out. It trickled along the blade, then sank into it. The sword quivered in hungry excitement.

Phelonas gave it a moment, until he judged it was ready. Then he withdrew his finger. The daemon was eager. It wanted to do this. This, Phelonas felt, was the key to daemonology; only ask the damn things to do things they wanted to. They were more co-operative this way. That was how amateurs got into trouble, trying to force daemons to act against their nature.

One shouldn't swim against the tide.

Phelonas muttered another Word. He reached out to the daemon. Carefully, he showed it what needed doing. The daemon quivered in excitement.

Phelonas struggled for focus. Concentration was paramount. This was hard – one of the hardest things he'd ever done. The work must be perfect. The smallest deviation and all could be lost. This was a complicated task.

Ultimately, it was all a matter of chance. At the subatomic scale, Phelonas knew, matter itself depended on chance. A particle – horrific misnomer that word was – could tunnel from one place to another, if the distribution of probabilities was favourable. The Imperium taught a doctrine of moral absolutes, but it was all rubbish. There was no certainty, not truly, only shades of gray. Even physics agreed. What meaning ideas like right or wrong, in a world where a particle could blink from _here_ to _there_? The whole concept was too empty to even be merely wrong.

The data in the slate was held in a diffuse sea of electrons and electrical charges, influenced by the physical structure of the slate itself and the semiconductor chips that composed it. There was a small chance that sea of electrons might tunnel from one state to another, finding a newer, better arrangement. The probability was small, but one possible configuration existed amongst many billions of others. In that configuration, all the data from the server was there, uncorrupted and readable – but also unencrypted.

As he concentrated, it was hard not to reflect on old ideas. So much about the world bothered Phelonas. There were so many contradictions. Take what he was doing right now – using the raw power of Chaos to manipulate the inner workings of a pile of solid-state semiconductors. It was an established technique. He'd done this sort of thing before. It seemed to work. And yet, he felt, it shouldn't. There was something fundamentally unreasonable about it all. How should magic be able to effect delicate physical changes? The universe at least gave the appearance of being lawful. Up was down, electromagnetism worked and nothing travelled faster than light, aside from Warp-capable spacecraft. And yet he could do things like this. It was a paradox and neither the physical paradigm nor the magical one offered clear answers.

Phelonas had his own theory. He suspected the existence of some deeper world, beyond both the physical continuum and the Warp. The two, he hypothesized, were just aspects of this deeper reality. If one could directly perceive that world, study its properties, all of the contradictions would go away. There would be no dichotomy between the power of the Warp and the realm of matter. They would both equally be exposed as just shadows on the cave wall, illuminated in the flickering fire of the true reality. It would lead to a true enlightenment.

And at the end of the day, what more could one want? Wealth? Pointless. Money was only useful until the next round of hyperinflation. Phelonas had lived long enough to see plenty of them hit the Imperium. Power? Fun, but sooner or later you'd lose it in some dumb accident. Immortality? Well, Phelonas did like being alive, but was the point of living if you weren't _doing_ anything? Life was a means to an ends, not an ends in of itself. Violence? It had its moments, but Phelonas was no World Eater.

The blade hummed in his hand. He tried to concentrate. For a moment he thought he had it – a fitful light flickered inside the runes. But this combination was too weak, just the faintest of ghosts on the furthest edge of the sea of probability. Neither he nor the daemon could lock onto it. He felt it slip away. The humming and the light faded.

He focused, trying again.

He had been searching for the deeper reality for a long time. He wanted the knowledge, some genuine insight. If he could only access the deep plane, he would have everything he wanted. A long time ago, before the so-called Heresy he'd felt the call even then. At first it led him to science. He'd become what would now be called a Tech Marine. He'd been sent to the fabled first system, to train on the oldest of all Forge Worlds. However he'd discovered that the sages of Mars had no answers, just more dogma. Even back then, the signs of their decline were unmissable. Instead of new science or creating new knowledge, Mars had already retreated into digging up the venerated relics of the past. And where the oldest and greatest of Forge Worlds went, the rest would soon follow. Although Phelonas had loyally returned to his legion that time, his experiences had planted the seeds of doubt in his mind.

Later on, after the Heresy, he turned to sorcery. He'd seen its might. It was strong, it was fresh and it was untainted by Humanity's intellectual decline. But he discovered a weird variant on the same problem. Like the fading lore of Mars, sorcery offered power, but it brought little true enlightenment. The denizens of the Warp were treacherous and the words of spirits rarely truthful. Much of the knowledge was just anecdotal, a lot of it actually just the collected ravings of madmen who'd looked too deep too quickly. Separating sorcerous fact from fiction was hard – maybe the question wasn't even meaningful.

It had been frustrating.

Later on he'd developed a combination of science and sorcery. That was when he'd devised this technique, amongst others. It had its own limitations, but at least the work was his. At least any errors or failings were his own, not the moronically-regurgitated mistakes of others. Over the millennia he had watched what had become both of the Adepts of Mars and the Imperium as a whole. Every time he thought they had found a new low, it seemed they went and somehow discovered another one. He had seen nothing to make him regret his own personal rebellion, all those centuries ago.

But in spite of his many achievements, he felt no closer to the true reality. Phelonas suspected he was being held back. His human ancestry had left some residual limits. Eyes that saw using light, lungs that needed oxygen, that sort of thing. Baring his Warpcraft, all his senses were based on the electromagnetic force. And even such a narrow range of that. His perceptions were greater than a normal human's, but not by enough. He was blind to so much of even just the material world. He didn't know what the X-ray universe looked like. He couldn't see in the radio. He had only the vaguest concepts of the weak- and strong-force landscapes.

It was no wonder his researches had gone round in circles for so long. If he couldn't even perceive this segment of reality in its true form, how could he ever hope to progress?

They had to be eliminated. He was seeking daemonic ascension, and had been for some time now. But it was imperative that it occur on his terms, not some outside power's. That was the true importance of his work here. If he could offer this ntire world up as one enormous sacrifice, four billion souls flooding into the Warp, the psychic power that released might just be enough. And if he could sweeten the sacrifice by butchering a Chapter of the Astartes in the process then that would help. It was crucial that the Powers of Chaos looked favourably on his labours. They liked the destruction of those who defied them.

The daemon reached into the quantum sea again. Phelonas was with it, 'seeing' through its senses, as it parted the shadows. A million possible worlds slide past. A billion. A trillion. He ignored them. They were useless. None of them offered the combinations he needed.

But was that? There was something up ahead. He saw it as a ghostly light in a dense fog, faint but real nonetheless. He turned the daemon toward it. They probed forward.

Ah. He was close now. He could feel it. This was what he needed.

The runes on the sword flared. The humming rose again. The hilt was thrumming inside his closed fist. The rune-light flickered over the server banks, a ghostly counterpoint to the electronics.

Inside the slate, reality was bent. Just for a moment, but long enough for a particular transition. The encryption vanished like dew in the morning sun.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Phelonas raised the tip of his blade. The daemon within purred in happy satisfaction. It subsided into sleep. The runes faded into darkness. With relief, he slid the blade back into its scabbard. He slid his other hand back into the gauntlet, casucally locking it back into place. The little cut on his finger had long since staunched.

Phelonas picked up the slate. He thumbed its screen. It beeped again. The screen came to life. He smiled. Names, dates and numbers cascaded over it. He had everything he had come for. It was amazing the stuff the Administratum had buried away. They had dirt on everyone – even themselves. Phelonas now had the information he needed.

With this slate, he could topple Delta's government.

* * *

It was some hours later. The sun had long since risen, and the city groped into vague wakefulness. Phelonas was back at the Originist safehouse. It had been a strange journey back, particularly for the taxi driver whose cab Phelonas had taken. The man hadn't been particularly bright – it had been a simple matter for Phelonas to control him, slipping out from the shadows of an alley to the backseat of the car. He'd sat there inside the blacked-out windows, trying not to feel too bored.

The taxi driver, of course, wouldn't be telling anyone about his odd little journey. Phelonas had fed the man to the daemon when the car reached the edge of the safehouse's town. He'd then pushed the vehicle into a ditch and set it alight. If the police even bothered to look at it, they'd assume that some lower-level alcoholic had stolen it and gone on a joyride, with completely-predictable results. As for the man's corpse, well, the flames would deal with that. A judicious splashing of fuel from the tank had helped the burning along. There'd be nothing identifiable left.

The rest of the journey had involved a tedious but reasonably-routine excursion through the town's sewers. No-one had seen Phelonas.

When he returned to the house, the hiding Originists were all asleep anyway. It had been a simple to ascend the stairs without observation.

He'd taken up residence in the building's attic. Oddly enough, it was actually the cleanest and best-maintained room in the crumbling structure. It also seemed to be shunned by the Originists, a peculiar tendency which he had careful reinforced with his psychic gifts. He was acceptably-comfortable up here. There was a bit of furniture, some shelves, an old bed and a table in the corner. A moth-eaten rug covered part of the floor. He'd spent longer in far worse locations. This improvised lair would do for the centre of his web. It caused him no end of amusement. Oh, if only the holy fools downstairs had any idea what cause their labours actually served … the irony was delicious.

Phelonas was cleaning his blade when Leora arrived.

The cloth slid over the arcane metal. Carefully he removed the last traces of the moronic taxi driver. 'Come in,' he said, hearing the faint disturbance behind him.

'Phelonas.' There was a creek and a clack as Leora closed and shut the door behind her. The small staircase was closed off.

There was a shelf next to Phelonas. The wooden beam was screwed securely into the wall. He dabbed the cloth in an open pot. A scent of chives and oil rose from it. He took the cloth to the blade, carefully oiling it.

'Are you busy?' Leora asked. Her face was composed but her voice revealed some nervousness.

'I can talk and work,' Phelonas replied. 'I wouldn't have asked you here if I could do neither.'

The room was lit by two electric bulbs and several fat pillar candles, distributed over a couple of shelves. The candles were scented with Octalian herbs. They added a spicy, smoky scent to the air. The bulb-light was a bluish white, while the candles were a rich yellow. Their differing colours gleamed on the blade, cacthing the edges of the fuller and the engraved runes. Phelonas turned it over. Shadows and highlights blurred on the dark metal. It reminded him of the lights of a city he'd once seen, spread out around a bay on a dark night. Phelonas tended to the weapon carefully, making sure all parts were paid the attention they deserved. The blade's magical properties did not extend to an immunity to rust, unfortunately.

'You wanted an update on that Janessa woman,' Leora said.

'Yes, I did. I take it she's still with us?'

'The hospital's done its work. She won't keel over any time soon. In fact she's conscious and lucid. For a given value of lucid, I mean.'

'Well we couldn't do with her suddenly becoming sane,' Phelonas agreed. 'That would be most inconvenient. So essentially what you're saying is, she'll live?'

'Yes.'

'Good. An abrupt demise would be amusing, but it would be awkward.'

'In fact she'll be coming back here tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow?' Phelonas paused in his cleaning. 'That's sooner then I expected.'

'The funds you made available – they greased a few palms at the hospital.' Leora shrugged. 'Efficiency is possible, even there. Why, is this a problem?'

'No, not at all. In fact it may be opportune.' He looked at his sword, turning the blade over. There. It looked adequately-tended. Gently, respectfully, he sheathed it. He felt the daemon murmur, but it didn't protest. It seemed sated, at least for the time being.

'Really?'

'Yes. Her influence will be needed shortly.'

'Will it? What's happening?'

'We need to be bold. The schedule should be moved forward.'

'Why?' Leora leaned forward. Deep shadows pooled on her face.

'Some news leaked through recently, from Riothria.' Phelonas pointed to the table. The dataslate was sat on it. A cable snaked from it into the back of a battered old cogitator, sat behind it. Information was spooling through the holographic display that hovered in front of the cogitator's grey box. The text cast a ghostly light across the table. The cogitator itself hummed softly.

'I didn't hear anything.'

'You wouldn't have. Military channels only. But I went on a little fishing expedition in Creekside, last night. An update on the war was one thing I was after.'

'Creekside? Hmm. Lots of eyeballs. Risky.'

'I was careful. No-one saw me.' Except the taxi driver, who didn't really count, given that he was now dead. 'And anyway, it was needed.'

'I take it you found something interesting?'

Phelonas nodded. 'The situation's changed. Things have happened. Important enough for them to pop the skulls of a load of astropaths, trying to get it here. First off, some lady Inquisitor has apparently taken control. I hadn't expected that.'

'Is that a problem?'

'The Inquisition,' Phelonas admitted reluctantly, 'can sometimes get things done. From the details available, this woman sounds dynamic. Apparently she's sacked the Governor.'

Leora blinked. 'Is that possible?'

'Anything's possible, for the Inquisition. And Sarrack had it coming. It baffles me how someone that tepid could ever have been tolerated – but this is the Imperium. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised.'

'Is this bad news?'

'It would be, normally. A clearcut victory on Riothria would be bad for our plans. The Chapter coming home with most of its forces and its morale high would cause difficulties.'

'We're screwed, aren't we?'

'No. Not at all, actually. There's something else in the report. Apparently they've just suffered an enormous loss.'

'Like what?'

'The battle was technically an Imperial victory,' Phelonas said, 'but it cost them a third of their remaining artillery. The end-game has arrived.'

'Really?'

He nodded. 'I had a look at the numbers.' He gestured to the slate with his sword. 'They can't win. Minoris is completely indefensible now. Assuming this woman has any sense, she'll order the planet torched and pull their forces back to Majoris. Then they'll have an enormous task to hold the other world, but in theory at least they could still do it. Majoris isn't quite the infrastructural trainwreck that it's neighbour was. If they chose to make a stand on Minoris, they'll be crushed. If not…' He shrugged.

'If not?' she prompted.

'Even if they come back with a victory on Majoris, it'll be under a cloud. An Exterminatus, millions of innocent dead and a world basically conceded to the enemy. They won't be cheery. They'll be halfway to broken. And they'll be carrying heavy casualties by then. They'd need time to resupply and regroup. But a second fight, _here_ of all places, well, that may just take them over the edge. Believe it or not, Medicae Leora, the situation favours us.'

'So what's Janessa needed for?'

'Believe it or not, the success or failure of our scheme depends on one particular actor.'

'And that would be?'

'The government. First Minister Yelessa and her Cabinet – and to a lesser extent the Assembly.'

Leora looked sceptical. 'What do those fools have to do with anything? I don't like politics.'

'Really? I'd have expected better of you, Medicae. You did seem like an intelligent person.'

Leora looked confused. 'What? But everyone knows politicians are scum. The people who want power are the last people who should be given it.'

'Yes – and that's all the more reason to watch the filthy bastards closely.' Phelonas sounded irritated. If there was one thing he couldn't suffer at all, it was stupidity. 'Does it ever occur to you that when you just walk away or look aside, you're not opposing them?'

'Apathy isn't approval.'

'Wrong answer. Apathy endorses the rulers. It empowers them. It frees them from any limitation or scrutiny. When you shrug and say you don't like it, you're also saying you won't do anything about it.'

'Well, I prefer to stand apart from the crowd.' She blinked, seeming uncertain. Something had changed in Phelonas's voice. He sounded intent, even riled. She had somehow sparked off one of his many rants. He did seem to like the sound of his own voice.

'Then you're failing,' he said. 'You're not being an individual, you're making yourself complicit. The silent are accomplices to corruption, however blameless they may consider themselves. You're bleating, just like the other sheep. One might say the people get the government they deserve. And that would explain a lot.'

'So we deserve the Imperium, do we? I can't recall ever voting for Terra.'

'No, of course you haven't. You've never demanded to. You've been carefully schooled so you "don't like politics". Ever wonder why there's so much corruption? Ever wonder why so many bent people are tolerated, throughout the Administratum and the Church? Do you really think the Inquisition and the State are truly that powerless? It's corrupt because it has to be. They want you disaffected, they want you cynical. They want you to feel your only hope is this distant all-powerful Emperor-figure, who may save you if you're quiet and obedient. They don't want you to take control or seize your own destiny away from them. They don't want you to make your voice heard. They fear you and all the trillions of little people like you - and rightly so. They have every reason to fear you. It wouldn't be the first time that the masses have turned on their self-appointed owners. They did it on Terra, thousands of years ago. Some people tried it ten millennia ago. It'd be interesting to see it happen again. I doubt the so-called God-Emperor and 'his' Church would survive such a convulsion.'

Leora stood there patiently throughout the Chaos Marine's tirade. She felt the need to make one small point. 'Just one thing. I'm helping you, aren't I? How is that endorsing the regime?'

'True. I'll concede point there. But I'm glad the subject of corruption has come up.'

'Really? Why?'

'Don't you think it's delicious when the Imperium's own tools are turned on it? Consider what we're doing here. The Imperium loves religious zeal and it loves uncritical reverence. It does everything it can to encourage them. And that climate has created this silly Originist cult – which is composed of a few half-baked ideas and a towering sense of resentment. And due to its very nature, it's something we can use. When you have a mass of mindless followers and a hierarchical power structure, all you have to do is bag the person at the top. Then the rest of them are yours.'

'You're suggesting,' Leora mused, 'that autocracy is inherently-flawed.'

'I'm not suggesting – the truth is self-evident!'

'But they all say it's the best way,' Leora said. 'All the books in school. No silly kow-towing to the mob. One man on top, to guide the rest with his clear wisdom.'

'Yes, and it's always a he in the books, isn't it? Also, what if "the man" just happens to be wrong, just once? Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, but if there's no-one there to check the error, then what? It will cascade throughout the rest of society and be the ruin of everyone. Look at our situation here. We have the woman Janessa. She'll live but she's tired and sick. She'll be easy to control. The rest of their council of Hierarchs are dead or jailed. They'll have to follow her, they have no choice. They simply can't imagine any other possibility. And she is our creature now!'

'So what about the First Minister? What role can she play?' Leora paused. 'Oh – and I do maintain that Yelessa is an idiot, by the way. Her management of the banking thing was awful. She couldn't handle the independence lot on Gamma. The recent nonsense there is a symptom, not a cause. The Originist ban was done cack-handedly. Then she let everyone get scared over the xeno thing on Gamma. And then she panicked the Sectoral finance-houses. Half of them have gone – and they've taken a pile of jobs with them. There's also a rumour going round that we're about to lose our credit rating.' Leora paused. 'Oh, and don't even get me going on Faithful Road's health policy, which frankly has been one stinking mess after another. I could rant about that for hours.'

Phelonas nodded. 'I'm not suggesting that politicians as individuals are misunderstood. They're shallow, mean-spirited, petty, lecherous, spiteful, stupid – just like everyone else. You'll find every human failing represented in the Assembly. As for these "Faithful Road" fools, well … They've been a poor government. Any credible society would've long since shown them the door. But not here. Oh no, not here. They survived the last election, just barely. They're good at playing the system. The people who've suffered most are the bottom levels – and of course the bottom three have only nineteen Assembly seats between them.'

'Out of two hundred,' Leora said.

'Yes. And then there's the weighting – one of the bastard offspring of the Selection.'

'Level ten gets fifty,' Leora observed. 'Level one has five. Hence the idea of the tenfold-weighting.'

'Even that idea is a typical Imperial lie. The reality is worse. Level ten is is less than four hundred thousand people. Level one is above four hundred million. A level one vote isn't worth anything.'

Leora blinked. 'You've really done your homework, haven't you?'

'Know your enemy,' Phelonas said. 'Anyway, the oligarchy doesn't need to stuff the boxes. The casting procedure does that by itself. That's the one thing Yelessa and her spineless cronies are good at – greasing their core support. The seats from levels ten through eight are more than half the Assembly. Buy those votes and stuff everyone else.'

'And the people in the top levels,' mused Leora, 'have an interest in the status quo. They're doing okay, so why risk change?' She hesitated, as if on the edge of some insight. 'They're allowed that much power _because they'll never use it_. They won't rock the boat. They won't cause trouble. They'll just sit in the corner and behave!'

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'Finally I think you begin to see. So much for the greatly-lauded Octalian Compact. The entire thing is just another fraud! And do you know what the worst thing of all is? _People tolerate it_. It only exists because you all let it! The people who are harmed the most sit there and do nothing, distracted by visions of a mythical afterlife! What about life _before_ death? Does anyone ever think about that? It baffles me – are you lambs to be led to the slaughter?'

'It's a depressing reality,' Leora agreed, 'but what use is it to us? And going back – Yelessa and the Assembly. You agree that they're idiots. What could they actually do?'

'A lot,' Phelonas replied. 'They control a police force. They control the power companies, the water supply and the media. They can stop the trains and blockade the roads. If we want to get our people into position – well, they need to be able to travel, as a minimum. These things the First Minister can make harder. Take the obvious one at the moment – most of our prospective army's sat in jail. The rest will get arrested the moment they board a train. That does limit what we can do.'

Leora frowned. 'But what can we do about that?'

Phelonas gestured again at the slate. 'We mentioned corruption. Well, there's a long-ongoing scandal on this planet. It's to do with nutritional supplements-'

'The potassium thing.'

'You know about that?'

'Phelonas, I'm a doctor. I get to deal with the human wreckage. Everyone knows about it.'

'The money's been siphoned off for years. Luxury mansions for senior managers at the Administratum, that sort of thing. Like we discussed earlier, it's part of the necessary corruption. The grease that makes the Imperium's wheel turn. It's been going on for a long time.'

'It's old news.'

'But these are new times. Think about it. On that slate, over there, I have all the details. The _actual_ accounts, not the ones they publish. The ones with names, dates and bank accounts. There's a word. It's a lovely word. Can you guess what it is?'

'Blackmail?'

'Oh yes! Isn't it delicious? And it'd be entirely self-inflicted. But that's not the plan.'

Leora blinked. 'Why not?'

'Too obvious,' he said dismissively. 'And we'd have to put the screws on too many people. Someone would bolt and make a run for the authorities – the actual authorities. I don't want the Inquisition getting involved too soon. No, we're going to do it differently. We're going to use it to set them against each other. It'll cripple their ability to organise. On the surface it will look like business as usual, but it won't be. A fragmented, divided and squabbling Assembly will not cope with crises. Instead it'll be too busy pointing fingers.'

'How do we do it, though?'

'You may not have realised it,' Phelonas said, 'but when you were ranting about Yelessa, you hinted at the correct way. You're not the only person who's angry with her. People will believe anything bad, right now. We can use that. If we leak some of this stuff – anonymously, of course – to the press, it'll get picked up. There's no way it can't, in the current climate. Imagine the storm. Imagine the headlines. On that slate there are even some senior Assemblymen. They've all had their fingers in the pot. And the most opportunities, of course, have gone to the ruling party.'

'Faithful Road.'

'Gilded Road, more like. But yes, they'll suffer the worst. But there's more.'

'Oh?'

'The Administratum keeps files on everyone in the Assembly. Pathetic, isn't it, how they don't even trust their own puppets? Anyway, there's about a few who are suspected to have Originist leanings.'

Leora caught her breath. 'And this is credible?'

Phelonas nodded. 'I needed some further evidence. So earlier today, I performed a ritual. I summoned something –'

'I thought it was a bit quieter in the building than usual.'

'It wasn't that kind of sacrifice. One the idiots downstairs has a collection of what he thinks are sacred relics. They're not, but he thinks they are. The belief is what I need, not the reality. I stole a couple of them and burnt them.' Phelonas pointed to an ashtray next to a candle. 'I put the ashes back in his room. It upset him. That gave me what I needed.'

'And they still suspect nothing?'

Phelonas nodded. 'This person hates his room-mate. Justifiably, I might add. The room-mate is soft of brain, even for an Imperial. But guess who got blamed? They beat each other up. You could hear it from up here. The violence was satisfying.'

'I'm sure it was.' She sounded dubious. 'So, what did you summon?'

'I suppose you might describe it as a Daemon of Intrigue. It's not a good description, but it gives you an idea. Daemons feed off of emotions – they're drawn to people whose minds excrete the right droppings. And there's plenty of scheming around the Assembly. I sent it out there for a little sniff around. It told me everything I needed to know. I have a list of eleven names – definite closet Originists in the current Assembly. No question left.'

Finally a glimmering of the scheme seemed to occur to Leora. 'And we have the Hierarch…'

He nodded. 'They'll listen to pressure from Janessa. They're already angry with Yelessa as it is. She did survive the election, but it damaged her. Her majority in the Assembly is wafer-thin. We can use this to cripple her.'

Leora's breath caught in her throat. 'We could throw her out! This is so easy!'

'Actually no,' Phelonas mused. 'Manipulating this sort of society is difficult. Like we said before, about autocracies. If Delta was a straightforward Imperial monarchy, well, His Majesty the Lord Governor would be my puppet by now. Half the planet would already be burning. Grab the man at the top and you have everything. But here … no, it's more difficult. There are more fingers in the pie and more oars out of the boat. Constitutional rule here is a sham but that people believe in that sham. That gives it some power. It takes managing carefully.'

'If we talk to the press, we must be careful.'

'Yes. Exactly. If they get a hint of our true motives, then we become headline news instead. No conspiracy survives exposure.'

'But how … I mean, you can't really walk into a newspaper office, can you?'

Phelonas snorted. 'My dear doctor, I work through intermediaries. Surely you'd noticed that by now? You only do things yourself if you absolutely have to.'

'You went to Creekside on your own last night.'

He shrugged. 'No-one else could have done that. No, consider me as a manager. I manage the process, not the work itself.'

'So, who will be our intermediary?'

'Hierarch Janessa, of course. I assume she can still speak?'

Leora nodded.

'Then she'll make some calls. She'll speak to a few people. I'll print out the list of names from this cogitator. I'll need you to bring the woman herself here. I'll also need you to leave the sheets in her room. I can do the rest from here.'

'The rest?'

Phelonas wiggled his fingers dramatically. 'I'll put the idea in her head. She'll read the sheet and think it hers.'

'I see.'

'Keep an eye on the papers. I imagine the news in the next few days might just get interesting.'

Leora eyed him. 'There's something else, isn't there?'

Phelonas nodded. 'I need something from you.'

'Like what?'

'Have a look at this.' He beckoned her over to the cogitator. He tapped a couple of keys. The screen flickered and changed. In ghostly holographic outlines, it showed the blueprint for some sort of device. It looked a bit like an upright canister, with tubes and wires plugged into it. Text boxes surrounded it, pointing out various components and functions.

Leora squinted as she read it. 'A viral culture-stroke-storage unit,' she said. 'With a fluid-pump delivery system. And some specifications for a synthetic retrovirus. What is this, Phelonas?'

'Can this be done?'

It took her a moment to realise he was actually asking, not being rhetorical. She nodded. 'The machine, sure. The virus? Probably, but it'd need work and money. What's it for? Have you suddenly developed an interest in gene therapy?'

Phelonas laughed. 'Not exactly.'

'Then … what do you want this for?'

'Deep inside the Ravenholme, there's a set of heavily-guarded rooms. When the Originists have smashed their way in, we may be able to get at them.'

'Okay. But I'm sure there are lots of well-guarded rooms in their fortress. So what?'

'They keep a very special resource in there. Something very special indeed. Something the Chapter desperately needs. This machine and its cargo can pollute that resource. Damage it so it'll never work properly again.'

Leora stared at him for a moment. Slowly, the penny dropped. 'This is an antagonist for geneseed, isn't it?'

He nodded. 'Even if the Ravens defeat us in battle, this will hurt them. Consider it an insurance policy. How do you feel?'

She smiled, an ugly gesture. 'I like it. It'll hurt them deep – like they did to me. I like it. Can I take these specifications?'

Phelonas nodded. 'Of course. I'll give you a copy before you leave.'

'Excellent. It'll need more money – but it can be done.'

'I'll see to it that you get what you need.'


	38. Chapter 38 Dangerous Visions

Alaster realised he must be dreaming.

There were several giveaways. The first was that he was wearing the wrong body. As he sat up, he felt tired, hungry, groggy and confused. He also needed the toilet very badly. He felt exactly the way he had always used to after waking up, pre-geneseed. There seemed to be something about sleep that really used not to agree with him. And to add insult to injury, the body had always seemed to demand large amounts of it, despite the discomfort it always seemed to generate. He'd always felt frustrated by the inconsistent demands of human biology. Leaving those limits behind had actually been rather refreshing.

The second giveaway was that he was in the wrong place. He remembered going to sleep after returning to the camp. The flood had been in full flow in the valley beneath them. It looked more like a lake than a valley. The Nids had been entirely destroyed. Servo-skull surveys beyond the Gap had revealed a landscape as empty as it was xeno-tainted. There were plenty of Nid-organisms about, of course, but they seemed to be the vegetation-like variety rather than the clawed-and-aggressive variety. The Nid growths would have to be burned, of course, but that was an issue for the future. In the meantime, the Space Marines had taken advantage of the lull to get some rest for an hour or two. Alaster had gone to sleep in a tent, lying awkwardly on the earth-packed floor, listening to the sounds of the camp around him.

As to where he'd woken up, it definitely wasn't a tent. He found himself leaning awkwardly against a stone wall. He was sat on a wooden floor, but the wooden beams were rotten. Several of them were missing. Alaster looked around. He got the impression he was somewhere high up. The room was bare and undecorated. Above him he could see wooden beams and above them, the frame and tiles of a roof. Some of the tiles were missing. Bright sunlight streamed in.

There was a window nearby. Alaster pulled himself to his feet, groaning. He stumbled over to the window, cursing this slow and lumbering human form. He wondered why his sleeping brain had felt the need to stuff him back into it.

The window was unglazed. He peered out. His first impression proved accurate. He seemed to be in some sort of tower room. Outside he could see trees and roofs, buildings and roads. It was a normal cityscape.

Then he looked up. He saw the third clue, the one that confirmed he was dreaming. There was the wrong number of suns in the sky. There was only one, and it was distinctly more orange than either of Minoris's. It also looked bigger. He blinked, shading his eyes, as he realised where he was.

His brain had sent him back to Delta.

Alaster looked down, feeling in need of a pee and also somewhat irritated. 'Okay brain, you've had you fun – can I wake up, please?' Given that he was dreaming, he seemed surprisingly lucid. He waited a moment but no sign of wakefulness returned. 'Oh well. I suppose I'm committed for the time being, then.'

Alaster looked around the room again. Over in the corner was a small doorway, without and actual door. It revealed a tight spiral staircase. It appeared he was meant to go that way. Alaster hoped that his brain had seen fit to furnish this building with some form of private convenience. If not then he would have to have words with the subconscious! The discomfort in his bladder was getting acute.

He crossed the floor. The beams groaned and sagged under him. The sound made him start – it was the first noise he'd heard since he 'woken', aside from his own voice. He paused and frowned, straining his ears. It was quiet. The usual city-sounds were absent. He shrugged. Oh well. Maybe it was a holiday or something. He set off again. As he moved, puffs of dust rose from them. Alaste sniffed the air. There was a rotten overtone to it, as if this place had been undisturbed for a long time. He shook his head. For a dream, this was very vivid.

He reached the door and made his way down the stairs. It was dark. He'd forgotten just how weak human eyes were. He had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He kept an eye out for doors on the way down, but there were none, excepting one right at the base of the stairwell. Bright daylight flooded in.

Alaster stepped out into a scene of stillness.

For a moment, his need of the toilet was forgotten. He stared, mouth hanging loose. The tower opened onto the pavement of a street. That pavement, however, was cracked and broken. Entire slabs were missing here and there. Weeds grew through the gaps. Nearby, a lamp post was tilted at a crazy angle. The casing hung open and the bulb was long gone. A vine was wrapped around the pole.

Across the street sat the burned-out wreck of a car. It had clearly been there for some time. The building behind it had no glass in any of its windows and the roof was missing. Alaster turned his head, surveying the scene. Everywhere he looked he saw wreckage, ruins and desolation. No wonder the city was quiet. He couldn't see a single intact building or a single hint of continuing human occupancy. Here and there, overturned cars blocked the roads. To his left, a van had ploughed into what looked like a taxi. Both of them had been reduced to crumpled wrecks. There had been a fire at some point - the wreckage sagged and looked half-melted in places. Both vehicles were black with carbonisation. Beyond them, further to his left, the thicket of buildings had been cleared. What was left of an office block lay on its side, half-intact and half-rubble, strewn across the street. The destruction was hard to take in.

Alaster looked to his right. The street ran on, but the destruction didn't ease. Ranks of broken buildings and toppled lamp-posts stretched away into the distance.

'Wow,' Alaster murmured. He was reluctantly impressed. His brain clearly hadn't spared the special-effects budget here. The words 'post-apocalyptic' described his surroundings quite nicely. It seemed his brain had been doing a lot of cribbing from various disaster films.

It occurred to him to look down.

Apparently, his brain hadn't spared the costume budget either. He was wearing what appeared to be the tattered wreck of an office shirt. It was dirty and threadbare. A pair of cheap sandals were decaying quietly beneath his feet. His legs wore the remains of a pair of trousers. What colour they'd been originally, Alaster couldn't tell. They were covered in dirt and grass stains. They were as tattered as his shirt. It was just as well the air felt warm – he doubted this shadow of clothing would manage well in the depths of winter.

'So,' he mused aloud, 'have I been cast as the only survivor, or something?'

Since there appeared to be no-one around to object, he relieved himself against a wall. He was quite grateful once that was done with.

'Now what?' he asked the air. There was no reply. 'If this is a disaster film, can we skip to the end bit? You know, with the gorgeous female lead? I reckon I could stand for a bit of that.'

The air remained mockingly silent.

'Okay, okay, if you're going to make me play along…' Alaster acceded to the inevitable with ill grace.

He set off to his right. The left of the street was blocked by the toppled office block. He didn't fancy his chances, trying to get over it. This way at least all he had to look out for was the odd missing paving-slab.

He must have been going for a couple of hours. His legs were getting tired. Octalis had moved visibly in the sky. His breathing was getting harder and his chest was sore. He was feeling hungry and thirsty. Alaster spotted what looked like an abandoned garden. The wall had been partly-knocked down, creating a big gap. He saw grass and what looked like apple trees. There were fruit on the branches. And there was a pool of what looked like drinkable water behind them.

Seeing no other option, Alaster entered the garden.

The 'pool' turned out to be one bend of a stream. The water in it looked clean and was flowing fast. Alaster was thirsty enough that the water seemed worth the risk – and it didn't look like the risk was too high. He drank deeply. It was cool and fresh. It calmed his thirst.

Once that was done, he looked to the trees. He plucked an apple and bit into it. Ripe but not yet too far gone. He ate it quickly. It was followed by several more. Alaster then discovered that he'd eaten all the ones within easy reach of his hands. Irritated, he looked around.

The garden went on beyond the stream. There were metal railings in the middle-distance. Trees grew in front of them. There was one close to the railing. And a branch hung down. Hanging from it was what looked like an exceptionally-large apple. It looked like it was just barely within arm's reach.

Alaster hopped across the stream. He reached the tree in moments. He paid little attention to his surrounds as he reached for the apple. It took him a few goes. Stood right on tiptoes, he could just grab the stalk. He gripped it, trying not to fall over, and tugged.

The branch came down. The apple broke off. He caught it as it fell. The branch rebounded with a loud creak. And-

Something fell at his feet. It was white and vaguely globular. Alaster stared. No. It wasn't globular at all. It was a skull. A skull had landed next to his feet.

He stood there holding the apple, gawping like a moron.

His arm lowered. He gripped the apple nervously. He looked up. He looked at the higher branches. Now that he was paying attention, he saw them. Skulls. They were sat along the branches. The empty orbits of their eyes stared lifelessly. Their bony jaws grinned. They were lined up along the branches.

'What the-?'

He looked at the other trees. There were more skulls tucked away on their branches too. He realised there must be hundreds in this garden alone. All of them arranged with a carefulness so precise that it seemed psychotic. He was in a garden of skulls.

The apple fell from his loose fingers. It landed in the grass with a quiet thud.

His eyes tracked to the railings beside him. They were about seven feet high, your fairly ordinary park-railings. Above the top horizontal bar rose a long series of metal spikes, presumably to deter intruders. But another use had been found for the spikes.

A skull was impaled on each of them.

'Skak,' Alaster muttered. 'Seriously not good.'

He stood still and listened. There was still no sound, except the quiet shush-shush of the leaves in the very weak breeze. No conversation, no motors, no doors slamming or any dogs barking. The ruined city was as silent as it was dead.

He looked back at the skulls on the railing. 'Okay brain,' he said quietly, 'Look, tell you what, just forget the bit about the female lead. I don't suppose you could just edit my gun in, could you?'

His hands remained empty. Apparently the brain wasn't feeling generous.

'Thanks,' he muttered sarcastically.

There was a gate in the railings, some way to his left. It was open. The gate itself was bent, twisted out of shape. Alaster sighed. He could see where he was meant to go. 'Oh well,' he said, 'let's get this over with.' Trying to swallow the growing sense of apprehension, he walked toward the gate.

He found himself stood on a road junction. The area looked vaguely residential, as far as he could tell. The wrecked buildings looked more like big houses than offices or shops. At the corner of one of the roads stood a church. It was sat back from the road, on a walled patch of land. Some headstones were visible here and there through the undergrowth. Vines and creepers were working their slow way up the stone walls of the church.

Alaster crossed the road. He didn't bother looking for traffic. He could see quite clearly that there wouldn't be any. He found himself in front of the church.

Just visible amongst an overgrown bush was a sign. Part of it was missing. It was green with rot and lichen but Alaster could still make out some letters. ST TEEL- it said, the next few letters being unreadable.

Alaster frowned.

He looked beyond the sign. There was, he saw, a single clear path amongst the vegetation. He climbed over what remained of the low wall. He walked slowly along the grassy path. Moments later, he found himself stood before the door of the church.

He caught his breath in shock.

On the wall above the door was a shadow, a region of less-weathered stone. In the corners were holes for screws. The outline of an Imperial aquila was clear enough. It wasn't that that shocked him, though. The original aquila was gone. In its place, someone had daubed something else.

The Eight-Pointed Star.

Alaster felt his stomach clench. He dropped to his knees. He found himself vomiting. The hard-won apples spewed out onto the floor. As he was bent down, he saw some twisted chunks of metal, gilded on one side. He realised they were bits of the aquila. It had been smashed, its remains thrown to the ground.

Once the stomach convulsions had subsided, he muttered, 'Thanks, brain.'

He pulled himself to his feet. Alaster looked at the closed door in front of him. The sunlight was shining straight onto the old wood. The beams were held in place with black iron bands. It looked quite sturdy.

'Do I really want to do this?' he asked himself.

He put a hand on the wood. He pushed. The door's hinges creaked alarmingly but they didn't resist. The door swung open. Alaster stepped into the cool gloom of the church's interior. It took his eyes a couple of moments to adapt. The scene was lit by some light, leaking in through the dirty windows. The stained-glass tiles seemed to have survived here, for whatever reason. The place smelt musty. It clearly hadn't been visited in some time.

He wasn't entirely surprised by what he saw. This bizarre dream had been trending this way for a while now. He cleared his throat nervously.

The church's floor was empty of any pews, any hymnals, any candelabra, any of the usual accoutrements of a religious building. Instead, there was only one thing inside the big room.

A gigantic, squat mound of skulls.

It reached most of the way to the rafters. It filled the church from one side to the other. There was a small space between its sides and the walls but Alaster would have had real trouble squeezing through. There must, he realised, be thousands of skulls mounded up here. They were given a weird countenance by the pastel light of the stained-glass windows. They seemed to be staring at him, accusatorily. Alaster briefly wondered what he'd see if he visited any of the other churches in this place. He suspected they'd all have mounds like this.

His eyes tracked up, to the top of the mound.

Sat along the top was a smaller number of different objects. There was a single line of them. They were blue-black in colour. They were all damaged. And they were all Storm Raven helmets. Alaster counted at least a hundred of them.

Finally overwhelmed by it all, his legs gave out underneath him. He collapsed to the floor. His last thought before everything went blank was that the stone was very cool.

*

'Wake up! Wake up!'

Alaster blinked awake. The dream was still there, in perfect clarity. He sat up. It was very different this time. No grogginess, no tetchy bowels demanding attention and a quick glance down revealed blue shoulder-pads, grey trim and a blue-black breastplate.

'Thank the Emperor that's over,' Alaster said with relief. He shook his head and looked around. He was back in the tent. His chainsword and his bolt pistol were neatly laid out on either side of him. His helmet was sat in a corner. Nasty was stood in front of him. Sunlight was leaking in around the tent flaps.

'Bad dream?' Nasty asked. He had his helmet under one arm. The light caught the scar on his face.

Alaster nodded. 'Yes.'

Nasty was watching him intently. 'Ruined city, by any chance?'

Alaster blinked. 'Uh, yes!'

'A garden with apple trees and skulls?'

'Uh, yes!'

'And a church with poor taste in décor – yep, you've had it too, haven't you?'

Alaster was staring. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing up his weapons. On automatic, he holstered his bolt pistol. He picked up his helmet with the free hand. He turned it over, looking at it. The image of all those broken ones on top of the mound was still in his eyes. 'What do you mean, me too?'

'Patreus has gone off to pray,' Nasty explained. 'He was in such a hurry he woke me up. He spouted something about a bad dream. He wasn't too clear, but it sounded very like the one I'd just had.'

Alaster stared. 'But – how can the three of us have the same dream?'

Nasty looked shifty. 'You know what I think? I think only one of us had it.'

'But – what?'

'That one just took the rest of us along for the ride.'

'I don't – wait, you mean Patreus, don't you?'

Nasty nodded. He tapped a finger against his head.

'But…' Alaster fell silent as he considered the idea. It was strange but he realised Nasty might have a point. 'It is kind of Patreus, isn't it? Lots of religious imagery and full of churches and stuff. And all very sombre and serious. And that business of wrongness lurking inside a church – given his experiences, that is the sort of thing his subconscious might throw up, isn't it?'

Nasty nodded. 'We're the people he knows best, so I guess that's why we got sucked along.'

'If he had this sort of power, surely we'd know by now?'

'Maybe he doesn't. Perhaps telepathy's easier when you're asleep or something.'

'But…' Alaster frowned. 'You're assuming that's the only explanation. What if someone said something during the day and that gave us all the same idea? And that common seed led to similar dreams?'

'Yeah but they didn't,' Nasty pointed out, bluntly.' No-one said a skakking thing about apples or skull-filled churches.'

'Did … did Patreus say anything about it?'

Nasty shrugged. 'The usual skak. He was half-convinced he'd had a vision or something.'

'I take it you don't rate that idea?'

'I prefer mine,' Nasty said. 'That dream was too weird for me. And there's something else.'

'Is there?'

'Yes. That place where it was – I know it. And I'm pretty sure Patreus has never been there.'

Alaster frowned. 'Then how…?'

Nasty shrugged again. 'For whatever reason, he must have lifted it out of my brain. Skak knows why. Anyway, that church – it's a place called St Teelek's, in Creekside. You've surely heard of there?'

It would be fairly hard not to have heard of Delta's second city. In most ways it was arguably more significant than the nominal capital. 'Yeah, but I've never been there. I'm from Colvin, remember? Wrong end of the continent. If you went by monorail, it'd take eighteen hours.'

'You could take the shuttle,' Nasty said.

'Uh, no, not on my parents' wages,' Alaster said. 'Really, really not. But – how do you know it was St Teeleks or whatever you said it was?'

Nasty rolled his eyes. 'I couldn't not recognise it, could I? My gang were in Creekside. And the bunch of scum who murdered my girlfriend – that was where they were based! St Tee's isn't just any church, it's an Originist one.'

'Or was,' Alaster said. 'They're supposed to be banned now, aren't they?'

Nasty shook his head. 'That won't've stopped them. If murdering complete randoms didn't bother them then illegal gatherings won't either. Trust me on that, I was a career criminal!'

Alaster rolled his eyes. 'Surely that's a contradiction in terms? But why would Patreus lift that place?'

'Who knows? It didn't make it a happy dream for me – although I did hope a few of those skulls were Originists!'

'How would you tell, though?' Alaster asked.

'Simple – look for the ones with exceptionally-small brain-cavities.' More seriously, Nasty added, 'But that really wasn't a good dream for me.'

'Nor me,' Alaster agreed.

The tent-flaps swirled. 'What was that about dreams?'

Kodos had appeared.

Awkwardly, Alaster explained about the shared dream. He described it only as that – he didn't mention Nasty's speculations about Patreus.

Kodos looked at them. 'We'd better go and find Patreus,' he said at last. 'I'm supposed to be taking you lot to the feast, since you're the heroes of the hour.'

Nasty and Alaster both looked surprised. This was news to them, both there being a feast and them apparently being heroes.

'Instead,' Kodos said, 'we're going to take a detour first.'

With that, he walked out. None the wiser, Nasty and Alaster followed. Patreus was rounded up in short order. Not long afterward, they found themselves in front of a tent bearing the Adeptus Mechanicus symbol. Kodos pushed the flaps open and strode inside. The three Ravens followed. Inside was a lot of equipment sat on trestle tables, several red-robed Tech-Priests doing this and-

Varla Kelso glared at Kodos. 'And what exactly do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?' She sounded as cranky as ever. Nonetheless she put down the device she had been fiddling with. Alaster glanced quickly at it. It looked like some sort of medical probe.

Alaster sniffed the air. The tent had that ozone smell that seemed to dog the Tech-Priests. It was filled with the sounds of keyboards being used, the clicking of measuring devices and the steady hum of cogitator fans. It felt like a busy space.

Kodos spoke with no preamble. 'I think these three need checking over. Possibly Sandrer and Fegust as well.'

'Why, what's the matter?' Kelso asked. She was suddenly business-like. 'Apart from you all being mad Space Marines, that is.' Alaster was trying not to stare at her. He hadn't realised she was on Minoris. But, he supposed, it made sense. A major deployment like this would need extensive specialist support. It was good to see her again.

Kodos snorted. 'No, that isn't the problem. The problem is these three might be showing Type II.'

'That doesn't sound good,' Nasty said.

'Type II adaptation disorder?' Kelso scanned them all. 'You think, do you?'

Kodos nodded. 'Stage One, to be precise. Shared hallucinations.'

Kelso said, 'Perhaps you'd better tell me what's happened.'

The story came out. Again, no-one mentioned the possible Patreus connection. Kelso just listened. Finally, she said, 'Well, it does sound a bit like a psychotic precursor.'

'Psychotic precursor?' Nasty looked appalled. 'Would someone please explain just what the skak this is?'

Kodos sighed. 'Type II adaptation disorder is a geneseed-related problem. It's not very common, but it can happen.'

'Our implantation was ages ago,' Alaster said.

'It doesn't happen instantly. This would be about the right sort of timescale for it to pop up.'

'It's hormonally-linked,' Kelso put in. 'Stress hormones, to be exact. So it doesn't usually appear until you've been in combat for a while.'

This did not seem like good news. Alaster and Nasty exchanged uncomfortable looks. Patreus looked grim. 'What does it mean for us?' he asked.

'Before everyone has a panic,' Kelso said, 'let's have a look at what your suit medical systems have to say.' She turned and dug into a tray of devices nearby. After some digging, she found something. 'Hang on. I need to plug this into your backpacks.'

A few moments passed. Alaster found having someone stood behind him, doing something made him feel very twitchy. Just standing here and letting them get on with it went against all his combat instincts.

Finally Kelso was done with the three of them. She took the little device back and plugged it into a cogitator. She tapped a strong of keys. Multicoloured readouts appeared on the screens. She frowned at them, scrolling down. 'It all looks normal,' she said finally. 'Blood pressure, both heart rates, liver function, respiration … I can't see anything spectacularly unusual.'

'So they're clear?' Kodos demanded.

'Possibly not,' she replied. 'I do have some good news, though. If they do have Type II, it's not well-advanced yet. There'll be months before the physical symptomatic stage arrives.'

'Thank the Emperor,' Patreus said. 'We can still fight.'

'Of course, the psychological symptoms usually precede the really obvious physical ones,' Kelso said. 'The brain is such a delicate thing. Even the smallest chemical wobble can make it do funny things.' She shot Patreus a look. 'I'm not sure how I feel about possibly-mentally-disturbed marines running around with guns.'

Kodos sounded like his temper was getting strained. 'Well, can we test for the full version?'

'Yes, but not here,' Kelso said. 'They'd have to go back to Delta. We just don't have the facilities. Either for testing or treatment.'

'Uh,' Nasty said, 'I take it this thing can be treated?'

Kelso nodded. 'Oh yes. It's straightforward enough. Just a course of injections. Basically they stop the body going into a panic over the stress hormones. Really it's just a matter of getting the appropriate receptors to behave themselves. The recurrence rates are tiny. As long as it doesn't progress to Stage Three, the recovery rate is nearly a hundred percent.'

At that moment daylight and a swirl of cool air spilled into the tent. Captain Lakon entered. He was still in his Terminator suit, although he'd removed the helmet. 'Kodos!' he said. 'I've been trying to find you everywhere!' His face was grim.

Kodos looked pained. 'Apologies, my lord. There was something I had to attend to.' He nodded toward the three.

Lakon took in the scene. 'I see. What's happened?'

Kodos briefly explained.

'Type II?' Lakon didn't look pleased. 'Well, if nothing else, at least that's the slow one.'

'Uh, my lord, is that good news?' Alaster suddenly felt the need to speak.

Lakon looked at him. 'Yes, Brother. There aren't going to be any spare ships for at least fifty-five days. Come day fifty-six, you'll have all the choice you could want. So it's just as well it's Type II.' He looked at Kelso. 'Magos, is there any chance this isn't Type II?'

Kelso rolled her eyes. 'Yes, Brother-Captain, quite a substantial one, actually. What I was trying to say is that we do not have the facilities here to diagnose Type II with absolute certainty. That's why they need to go back to Delta.'

'We don't have any spare marines,' Lakon said.

'No, but you'll have even fewer if the geneseed's gone bad,' Kelso replied grimly. 'And a duff batch can be a cause of this.'

Lakon drew breath. 'You think that's a possibility?'

'It's a _possibility_, yes. How _likely_ that is, we don't know. But the geneseed is important. If there's any hint of a problem, it needs checking. Ninety-nine percent of the time it's nothing, but if you ignore it when that one percent comes up…' Kelso shrugged. 'I dare say the results won't be pretty.'

'Well,' Lakon said, 'it can't happen any earlier than day fifty-six.'

Kodos said, 'My lord. If you'll forgive me – what's so important about fifty-six days' time?'

Lakon sighed. 'A little bit of news, Sergeant. We just received it an hour ago. Myself and the other commanders decided to hold it back till after the celebration.' He looked at Alaster, Nasty and Patreus. 'Whatever else happens, that was a significant victory earlier. But since you've asked, I'll tell you.'

'Please do, my lord,' Kodos said. 'We're Imperial Space Marines. We can handle bad news.'

Lakon laughed humourlessly. 'Well try this. Although we beat the Nids this time, you'll remember how much artillery we lost.'

'Too much,' Kodos agreed. 'Everything on the hill, basically.'

'Well, her ladyship the Inquisitor's been doing some number-crunching again. Apparently as soon as she heard about our fight here, she dumped the politicians and went back to the cogitators.'

'I'm not going to like this, am I?'

'Apparently with our previous balance of forces, we were losing two thirds of her simulated war games,' Lakon said. 'Only now, with the new numbers, that's jumped to three thirds. All of them, in other words. Don't get the wrong idea – we were giving them a damn good fight in most scenarios. But they all ended the same way.'

Kodos looked disbelieving. 'That can't be.'

'Apparently yes it is.' Lakon hesitated. Then he spoke in a lower voice. 'We've run some tactical sims of our own, Sergeant. We didn't tell the Inquisitor – they're completely independent. And unfortunately, ours agree with hers. Also, Brother-Librarian Kaylos has been troubled by dreams of a world on fire. He has had prescient dreams a couple of times before – it's part of his psychic gifts.' Patreus twitched. 'And now these three turn up with a tale of ruined and empty cities. I almost wonder if someone's trying to tell us something.'

'You know my opinions on Kaylos,' Kodos said. 'And these three might just be having a Type II episode – like we were just discussing. And as for these simulations-'

'Sergeant, this isn't any easier for me,' Lakon replied, 'but it appears that we're done here. The question is no longer how do we hold Minoris, because we can't The question has become how do we stop the Nids using it to take Majoris.' His tone was grim. 'And I understand that in fifty-five days' time, the Inquisitor will be answering that question.'


	39. Chapter 39 Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt

17/12/2008 The Misfits D. Murray

With a heavy heart, Father Inyre stepped off the train.

The carriage pulled away behind him, the sound of its wheels rising in pitch as they spun up. Then they faded as it sped away into the distance. Some windfall leaves swirled in the wind of its passing. Inyre glanced down the platform. A security guard was stood at the far end, watching the other disembarkees. The man showed no curiosity. It was hard to be sure if he was even awake, or just sleeping on his feet.

Inyre's reaction was split. Part of him wanted to cower away, pull up his collar and shy away from sight. The other part of him wanted to walk over there, grab the man by his lapels and shake him. _Can't you see what's happening?_ he'd demand. _Can't you feel it_? The end could well be nigh, and yet all the man did was stand there like a sack of potatoes in a uniform.

Inyre walked forward. He was wearing an old trenchcoat, ex-Guard issue. There were some darker patches on the greyish sunlight-bleached fabric, where unit insignia had once gone. An old pair of trouser peeked out from underneath. The fabric was a faded navy blue. His boot heels clicked on the paving. He had a slate tucked under one arm.

Inyre passed the security man without incident. There was no need to hide any more. As soon as he'd seen the news headlines this morning, he'd walked straight to Creekside East Station. He'd boarded the first train to this town. He could travel freely again. It should have been a cause for rejoicing. The man hadn't even look at him.

He entered the small station building. The street exit was through the ticket hall. There was a line of people waiting by the exit door. Inyre joined the short queue. A rail company jobsworth glanced at his ticket and his ID card. This man looked closely at the card. He looked up at Inyre and scowled.

'Trouble-causers,' the man said. 'You lot should be ashamed of yourselves.'

Mildly, Inyre said, 'May I go?'

The man waved him past, looking cynical.

Moments later he was outside in the sunshine again. Despite the harsh words that had been an easy trip. Even though his ID card listed his sect as the Originist Church, no-one had interfered with him. He'd experienced some dislike, both here and at the previous station, but no actual obstruction. Far from being delighted, Inyre felt depressed. He suspected more then just the hand of chance in the day's news.

He looked up. A busy road separated him from a row of houses. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the houses, smoke was rising. There was one plume, smaller than many of the others on the morning news but visible nonetheless. Inyre sniffed the air. He could smell it, a scent of burning overlaid on the cool breeze.

He looked around. The houses nearby were untouched. It seemed the unrest hadn't spread this far – yet, anyway. Give it time. Seeing that plume was frightening. It showed just how volatile the current situation was. It was astonishing how quickly things were falling apart down here.

He flagged down a taxi and gave them the address. He settled himself into the backseat before it drove off. The door clicked shut. He breathed deep as the engine revved. The inside of the taxi smelt of cigarettes and cheap air freshener.

He was't worried if the driver saw his face. He wasn't even bothering with subtlety about his movements. Oddly, he was no longer worried about being followed. Part of him even wished the police would. If they burst into the safehouse and arrested everyone – well, it would simplify certain matters.

The slate was resting in his lap. Inyre looked at it. Mass arrests were improbable now. They might come for Janessa, but even that was looking unlikely. His face glum, Inyre turned the slate on. He scanned through the news again, just to make sure he wasn't somehow mistaken.

No. No mistake. The scandals and the rows were still there.

He stared at the headline. '_Original Sin' - Links Claimed_. The first paragraph was equally revealing. It was still displayed on the screen. He'd been reading it on the train, trying to glean further insight.

_The new Traditional Front party has links to the so-called Originist Church, sources say. These allegations have surfaced in the wake of yesterday's split in Faithful Road, as further fallout from the 'Pennies for Pills' scandal. Although restrictions on the cult have been eased, public distrust of the Originists is widespread after the last eighteen months' events._

It carried on in that vein for the entire front page.

Public distrust. Inyre was coming to suspect that the public might be right not to trust his church. He remembered all too well the conversation he had overheard at the safehouse. He shuddered just thinking about it. He'd tried to shy from the full implications but there could be no doubt.

Somehow, his church had become a tool of the Great Enemy.

This easing of restrictions didn't bode well. Inyre had heard Phelonas and that damned woman, talking their evil schemes as they stood over Janessa's unconscious body. There had been no ambiguity to what they had said. They were planning murder and mayhem on a world-wide scale. The monster-marine had even gloatingly spoke of Exterminatus! If they had their way, the planet would burn – Inyre knew that was the simple truth.

And no-one else but him knew.

He swallowed. The taxi turned a corner. They were almost there. He watched a young couple walk past, arm-in-arm. They showed not a care in the world. He wished he could share their happy ignorance. The lives of four billion people might well rest on what he did today.

There were too many coincidences with this recent crisis. Phelonas would have to get his patsies into place to storm the Ravenholme. The easing of travel restrictions would help. So would the waiving of the mass-arrest warrants. The releases of the junior faithful from the prisons would add to the size of the puppet army. It couldn't be coincidence. It was too neat. Somehow, the traitor had a hand in this.

The taxi pulled up to the curb. Inyre paid the driver and got out. The door shut behind him. The taxi's wheels screeched as it sped off to collect the next fare. Inyre pocketed the slate. He walked toward the house, still deep in thought. He could hear the rumble of traffic in the background and the twittering of birds in the trees

In hindsight, it was all too obvious. The hampers. Tobias's visit to the cellar. The many problems in his congregation. Inyre shook his head in sadness. He should have known the signs. He'd learnt much back in his Guard days, on Jenneko. The taint of Chaos was unmistakeable. He'd learnt much on Jenneko, so much more than any sane man should have to know. The Word Bearers had been keen on that. They seemed to think their foes should hear their foul revelations, chanting them out even as they fired salvo after salvo into the Guard's ranks.

While he and his congregation had thought they were worshipping the Emperor, below their feet something had been calling to its foul masters. Some of that corruption must have seeped upwards through the floor. The signs had been there. All those strange things that had kept happening – how could he have been so blind? The taint of Chaos had been obvious. He knew what had happened – he'd been blind because he hadn't wanted to see.

That was no longer an option.

He had overheard the conversations in Room 8. He had been so very nearly discovered. He could only credit his survival to either the remotest kind of luck – or to divine intervention. The Emperor had sent him to bear witness to the horror. It was up to him to stop it. This was his chance for redemption from his sins. He suspected that he needed that redemption very badly indeed.

He walked up to the door. He hesitated. Did he really want to do this? He was putting himself in danger just by being here. The traitor had nearly recognised his scent. One more whiff might be all that was needed.

Inyre had to reluctantly admit to himself that he felt very, very afraid.

Inyre took a deep breath and steadied himself. He swallowed. He had to do this. He had to try. He owed it to Janessa, if nothing else.

He knocked.

The door's hinges groaned as it opened. Inyre sighed a breath of relief as he was greeted by the housekeeper – not a vengeful Chaos Marine.

'I'm here to see her ladyship,' he told the woman.

The housekeeper opened her mouth, as if to refuse. Inyre just ignored her. He pushed past and stepped into the hallway. Walls surrounded him, marked with cracked and peeling paint. He walked past the housekeeper and set off up the stairs. The old boards groaned under him. He gripped the rail, trying to ignore the wobble of the loose banisters.

Moments later, he was stood before the door. ROOM 8. The familiar musty smell assaulted his nostrils. Once more, he hesitated. He listened carefully. No unusual sounds reached his ears. Carefully, he knocked on the door.

'Come in,' Janessa's voice said.

He opened the door.

It was the same room. There was the same tired light bulb, the same old, threadbare rugs and the same old bed. At the end was the same old window, with its balcony. This time sunlight was streaming in. Next to the window sat something, covered under a grey blanket. The object, whatever it was, was about the same size as a household vacuum cleaner. Inyre wondered briefly what it was. Then he dismissed it from his mind. There were more important things to attend to.

Janessa was sat on the bed. She was brushing her hair. She looked much healthier then she had the last time he'd seen her. Still, her skin was marked with the echoes of the bruising he'd seen all over her face. She would bear the scars of her injuries for the rest of her life, Inyre realised.

'Father Inyre.' Janessa smiled, but it didn't seem to reach her eyes. They seemed preoccupied – distracted.

The door creaked as he shut it behind him. Through the open window could be heard birdsong in the garden and a faint susurration of traffic in the distance. Near the window was an old wooden chair. 'Your Ladyship,' Inyre said politely. He gestured to the chair. 'May I sit?'

Janessa lifted an eyebrow. 'If you wish.'

He pulled the chair over and sat down. He realised he could smell perfume. Her perfume. He blinked. Since when had Janessa worn perfume?

'I haven't seen you in a long time,' she said. 'What can I do for you?' Her voice sounded cheerful. Her eyes remained distracted.

'I … wanted to see how you were,' Inyre said, feeling awkward. It wasn't what he was thinking. But he didn't know who was listening. He wanted to say, I want to know if you're a traitor. Are you indeed Phelonas's dupe, or are you with him willingly?

He suspected that if he did, it wouldn't be good for his life expectancy.

'I'm fine, thank you,' she replied. 'Much better. I know I look a mess, but the hospital did its work. The medicae are so good, don't you think? So very hard-working. Unlike a lot of people.'

'My lady, you were – I heard you were severely injured. How – how did that happen?' You had decompression injuries, he could have added. How do you explain _that_?

For a moment she looked confused. Then she waved a hand airily. 'Oh, details, details. It must have been when I was rescued from the police. I don't remember. I think I passed out. Yes, I must have done.'

'And – forgive me my lady, but how did you elude the police?'

She frowned. Her scarred brown puckered. 'Father Inyre, what is it with all the questions? You never did ask so many.'

Inyre shuddered. He was reminded of one of Phelonas's rants. And worst of all, in a way, the Chaos Marine may actually have been _right_. It made Inyre feel queasy even just to think that, but if he had been more questioning… If he had demanded an explanation from Tobias… If he had paid attention to what was happening in his congregration…

It was possible that none of this would be happening.

'My lady,' he said with a hoarse voice, 'these are dark times. We … the people … I mean, you must have seen the smoke outside. So much is in doubt now! There are enemies everywhere!'

She nodded sagely. 'You are right. These are dark times. For the record, I was rescued. By that creature of Tobias's. Phelonas.'

Inyre swallowed. He tried hard not to stare. 'Did you – did you _see_ Phelonas?'

She laughed. 'Oh, calm down, Father, calm down! I know all about him.'

Inyre was appalled. 'You _do_?'

'He's a mutant, yes. Tobias told me about him.'

A mutant? Inyre blinked. Was that what Tobias had said? A mutant? Had Tobias been in on it too? 'And did you … see him?'

'No. He was quite insistent that I shouldn't. He clearly thought my zealous rage would stop us working together.' She shrugged. 'He blindfolded me.'

Inyre almost asked, And you didn't think that was just a bit weird? Are you really that gullible? Or do complete strangers blindfold you all the time?

Instead, he asked carefully, 'Do you know anything about his nature?'

She shook her head. 'No. And I can't say that I care. He hates the Ravens, and he'll help us.'

'But why? Why do you think a mutant would help us? We want them dead as well!'

'Oh Inyre, we're so close! Listen to yourself! I assure you, this pathetic creature will be put out of its misery soon enough.'

For just a second, he doubted. For just a second, he wondered if somehow, Janessa was still herself.

Then she said, 'But first, we shall have our Day of Reckoning. I'll take any help that's offered, if it brings us closer to destroying the foul Ravens. It could be soon, Inyre! We could be the spark that lights the flame! We could begin the holy cleansing that will purify the Imperium!'

Or bring its wrath down on this planet and ruin us all, Inyre thought. He said, 'The recent news. Is this anything to do with you?'

She beamed. 'Oh yes! Wonderful, isn't it? Isn't it amazing how fast the claws come out? Setting those corrupt sell-outs in the Assembly on each other was a master-stroke!'

'And this Traditional Front … are they Originists?'

She nodded. 'Closet cases, yes.' There was a phone sat next to her on the bed. She patted it. 'I had their numbers. Phelonas – he called me with the strategy-'

'You still _talk_ to him?'

'Oh, all the time.' She waved the hand again, dismissing any doubt. 'Over the phone, I mean. He's so useful. And afterwards I always feel so clear and confident – so much more focused! He's inspirational.'

Inyre wondered if she'd always been this stupid. His mental picture of Janessa, the great woman he'd looked up to for so long, was crumbling to bitter ash inside his mind. He felt a depression settle over his heart. Had he really followed this hapless little fool for so many years? How could he have got so blind?

'So there've been Originists inside Faithful Road all this time?'

She nodded. 'The old plan had been to covertly infiltrate the ruling party and take it over – but those idiots on Gamma shot off on their own. We didn't have time to implement our old ideas. They would've taken years to come to fruition. Maybe decades. No, Phelonas's way is so much better. So much faster.'

The uprising on Gamma – had that somehow been Phelonas's work? Inyre felt sick. But of course. He could see it now. If the Originists' old plan had been followed, there would still be a strong and united government on Delta. Phelonas couldn't risk that, because when the truth emerged, that government was sure to oppose him. So of course its unity had to be undermined, even if so doing also temporarily weakened his unwitting Originist catspaws. 'So why didn't this split happen sooner?'

'We only have eleven of ours in the Assembly,' she said. 'Before the last election, Faithful Road's majority was much bigger. Eleven seats wouldn't have mattered. But now – eleven seats costs them their majority! They can't guarantee the Assembly's support any more. In fact, we can take Yelessa's job any time we like! And better yet, in the mean time, they need our eleven votes if they're to do _anything_ – raise any funds, make new laws, even change the bulbs in the Assembly Hall! Yelessa and her cronies can't stand against us!'

'But what about the Opposition?' Inyre pointed out. 'Can you be sure that Shining Path will always vote against the government?'

'Yes,' Janessa said. 'The Pennies-for-Pills scandal makes it impossible for them not to. Yelessa may as well be radioactive now. No-one wants to be linked to her – least of all the Opposition.'

'And this coalition deal?' Inyre pointed at his slate. 'This business of the Front supporting the Road in confidence votes…?'

'…gets us a say in all new laws,' Janessa explained. 'But our people aren't formally in the Cabinet, so they're not bound by collective responsibility. This way we have both power and independence! Don't you see, it's pure genius?'

No, it's diabolical, he thought. And you're a fool for not seeing it.

'And Pennies-for-Pills?' he asked.

'Phelonas again,' she replied. 'He's like some sort of wizard with databases. I don't know how he does it.'

'No, I don't suppose you do,' Inyre agreed bitterly.

Janessa looked at him strangely. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Oh, nothing,' Inyre sighed. He took a breath, then said, 'So, Phelonas found you all the dirt on Pennies-for-Pills. I presume someone must've taken it to the papers?'

Janessa nodded. She patted the phone again. 'Communications are paramount, you must agree. The humble telephone – such a mighty thing. Not that you'd know to look at it, but these things have felled empires. Yes – we have a few more closet cases at some places in the media. We sent them this little scoop, on a plate with names, dates and receipts. We didn't need to do anything else. You were talking about the dark times we live in earlier – there's so much _fear_ out there, don't you agree? All of this just plugged straight into it all. No-one had any cause to doubt any of it.'

Inyre listened to her monologue with growing unease. He shifted his weight on the chair. It creaked under him. 'Great,' he said. 'So we've gone from knowing no fear to peddling it on street-corners.'

Yelessa scowled at him. 'Father Inyre, please! This is our hour! This is no time to get squeamish over ends and means! Holy purity is the end we seek. Purity is its own justification – or have you somehow forgotten basic catechism?'

'No,' he said, 'but there is such a thing as an unintended consequence. Have you thought about that?'

For a moment the committed mask on Janessa's face flickered. Just for an instant, he thought he saw something pleasing in her eyes. They stared at him, desperate and silent. Then the mask settled back. 'What can that mean?' she asked, sounding disinterested.

'On the way here,' he said, leaning forward, 'I saw smoke rising from somewhere in the town. The papers are full of dire reports – a protest here, a riot there. The capital's been locked down due to the violence.'

She shrugged. 'Death is the wages of sin. I couldn't care less for the mob. It can destroy itself in any way it chooses.'

'My lady, people are scared! Yes, that's true! But how do people react to fear? If you can't run from it – you try to fight it.'

'So?'

'My lady – go outside and look around. Read the papers. Look in people's eyes. There's revolution in the air!'

'Yes,' she beamed. 'Our revolution!'

He sighed, leaning back. The chair creaked again. Somewhere outside, a car honked its horns. 'My lady, you can take that genie out of the bottle – but when you let the mob loose, how do you stop it again? Horses have reins but people don't. My lady, it gives me nightmares.'

She looked disappointed. 'Father Inyre, since when were you weak?'

'There's a bonfire out there. If you want to throw petrol on it, don't be surprised if it flares back at you. Look at the headlines! People are blaming us for what's going down!' Rightly so, he added to himself.

Suspicion highlighted her features. 'Have you gone wobbly, Father? Since when were you one for compromise? Not thinking of going over, are we?'

He stared at her. 'My loyalty is not in question.' Unlike yours, he added to himself.

'Oh really. Well it's interesting you should talk about loyalty. Because you see, I heard that you vanished from St Teelek's. By the day the police came for everyone, you'd vanished. Funny, that. Almost as if you knew.' She glared at him. 'Your congregation were taken to the cells – but you weren't. One could certainly question _that_.'

Inyre stared, hardly able to believe this. 'I am not a traitor,' he said. He had to swallow. The memories of that day were welling up. He could remember the fear, the taste of it in his mouth, the sudden surging of memories he'd thought long repressed. He remembered the horror and his panicked flight. 'I may be many things. I may be a weak little human being. I may be an old man. I may well have failed in my duty – yes, I admit that! But I have never betrayed the Emperor.'

'Then why did you run?'

The question wasn't angry or accusative. Instead it was spoken curiously, almost sympathetically in fact. Just for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of the old Janessa. Hope bloomed. Maybe, if he could just reach out to her – maybe he could break whatever hold this beast had over her!

'The day I ran,' he said, swallowing hard, 'I went into the crypt. Where Tobias was keeping his – his little, ah, mutant pet.' His breathing had sped up. The fear was mounting. He glanced nervously at the door. Any minute now he expected Phelonas to kick it open. But he couldn't stop now. 'There was – there was an altar.'

Janessa frowned. 'An altar? And you're surprised by this? St Teelek's is a church, you know.'

Inyre swallowed. He shifted on the chair. It creaked under him again. 'No -you don't understand. This wasn't any Imperial altar. It was – it was right at the back, in the shadows. It had – it had the star carved on it.'

Janessa looked baffled. 'What star?'

He stared. How could she not know? How could she? 'The eight-pointed one,' he told her.

She met his eyes with polite incomprehension. 'Eight-pointed? Well I suppose it makes a change from five, or six.'

This was unbelievable. She had no idea! She genuinely didn't know! The incomprehension wasn't faked. Janessa had no idea what he was talking about.

'Janessa,' he said, deliberately using her name, 'the Enemy was present under St Teelek's. The Great Enemy.' He stressed the second word as hard as he could.

Janessa looked even more confused, then she burst out laughing. 'The Storm Ravens were under St Teelek's? That's absurd, Inyre.'

He sat back. Fear was giving way to a deep sense of failure. He couldn't seem to make her understand. This was unbelievable.

Somewhere outside a bird chirruped.

The suspicion had gone from Janessa's eyes, replaced by a sort of cynical sympathy. 'You know what I think, Father? I think the stress got to you. I know there were problems with your congregation. You must have been so worried. That day you must have been on edge. And I guess it must have been dark down there. Dark and creepy. Your eyes had trouble adapting. You thought you saw something in the gloom. I suppose that pushed you over the edge.' She laughed. 'A perfectly ordinary mental breakdown! And to think, I thought you'd gone over to the other side!'

Inyre just stared.

'No,' she said, 'what I think you need is a bit of inspiration. You've had a big shock to the system. You need to _see_ our next step.' She pointed. 'Have a look under there – the blanket.'

He followed her finger. She was pointing to the grey blanket. He got up and walked over. 'This?' he asked.

'That,' she agreed. 'Lift the blanket.'

Inyre did so, dragging it off to one side.

Underneath was a circular glass column, about two feet high. It was sat on a sort of round metal plate, a few centimetres thick. Various pipes, tubes and wires sprouted from the cylinder and connected to the plate. There were some little lights on the plate, blinking away. The cylinder was filled with an aerated fluid. Inyre could see little bubbles rising inside it. Somewhere inside the cylinder, a pump was quietly humming.

And something revolting was floating inside the cylinder.

Inyre gawped at the thing. It was about the size of a potato. It was the colours of uncooked meat, pinks and whites and faintly bluish traceries running across its surface. It was stomach-turningly organic. And it was bobbing about halfway up the cylinder.

The fluid around it, Inyre noticed, was a faint and transparent greenish colour.

'What in the name of the Emperor is that?' he demanded

'A progenoid gland,' Janessa explained, sounding smug.

Inyre actually felt a little sick. 'I thought we were against genetic manipulation?' he said.

'This is a weapon,' she replied. 'We're not making Space Marines, if that's what you're thinking of. We're going to use it to kill them. Or more accurately, perhaps abort them.'

Inyre stared. 'What, by making them feel queasy?' It really was utterly disgusting to look at. He was reminded of an outbreak of the vomiting sickness one time, in the trenches on Jenneko. He'd come down with it. The onset had been quite sudden. He'd brought up a steak he'd eaten only a few minutes before. The returned glob of half-digested food had looked like this - this thing.

'No, no, no,' she said in a patient tone. 'It's horrific to look on, I'll grant – but what it does is so clever. You see, this isn't just any geneseed.'

'Oh no?'

'Oh no. This has been modified. I'm led to understand that geneseed emits little demons that they call "retroviruses". These little demons go into the victim's body and corrupt his human form. Anyway, this geneseed has been changed. The demons it emits act on other geneseed.' She looked at him expectantly.

'Oh,' he said. 'So what?'

'So they keep them all together, in a big facility. Apparently all the geneseeds like to exchange their demons. Well, plug this one into the tanks and it will foul all the others up. So they won't work properly anymore. No more Space Marines! Don't you see? Even if they should defeat us in battle, on the Day of Reckoning – all we need to do is get this into their stronghold, and we've won!'

He stared at her now, feeling sickened to his core. The old Janessa would never have stooped to a scheme like this. Worst of all, Inyre suspected he could take a guess or two where this geneseed might have come from, too.

He had to try one more time. Just to be sure. Just to make sure there were no remaining traces of the old Janessa, no-one in there whom he could reach. 'But – my lady, how did you get hold of geneseed? It isn't exactly left lying around.'

She shrugged. 'I didn't do the fencing. There's this doctor who's been helping us. She lost a son to the Ravens. They murdered him. So anyway, she has contacts. She knows people. She did all the fencing.'

'But where from?'

Janessa shrugged again. 'I suppose it's not beyond imagining that every now and then, a crate or geneseed falls off the back of the proverbial lorry. I mean, I can't believe that it's never happened, not even once in the course of ten thousand years. You've seen yourself how much corruption there is out there.'

He wanted to ask, What about all the corruption right here, in this room? He looked back at the cylinder and its nauseating cargo. He stepped fastidiously back from it.

'It's wonderful,' Janessa was gushing. 'The perfect scheme! Using the monsters' own tools against them. It's so exquisite, it must be the Emperor's will! Everything about it is brilliance. We can crush them, so totally they'll never rise again!'

Something occurred to Inyre. He looked at Janessa, staring into her eyes. 'You never used to talk in paragraphs,' he said.

She stared at him, baffled. Inyre's mind was whirling. He remembered the overheard combination. He remembered the Chaos Marine's windy speechifying. One thing certainly seemed true about Phelonas – the traitor was impressed by his own cleverness. He liked the sound of his voice. And Janessa – she was doing the same thing!

If someone was being psychically mind-controlled, Inyre thought, that meant another person's will was being superimposed over their own. But if someone else's desires motivated you and someone else's voice spoke through your mouth, did that also mean that some of their personality rubbed off on you too?

He twitched. The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning. He realised it must be true. It was obvious. The old Janessa would never have stooped to something like this. She'd believed that geneseed was a temptation, a corrupting thing, like money or power or pleasure. Nothing good would come from consorting with it. She'd never consent to a scheme like this.

The old Janessa, he now knew beyond any doubt, was gone.

He walked back to the chair. He rested his hands on the back. He glanced toward Janessa. 'Tobias,' he said suddenly. 'Have you seen him recently?'

Janessa looked puzzled. 'Tobias? No. Why? Is it important?'

'This wonderful new friend of yours,' Inyre said. 'Funny the way his associates seem to disappear, every now and then.'

Janessa looked even more puzzled. She looked back toward the cylinder.

The momentary distraction was all Inyre needed. He grabbed the chair. He swung it up. The legs shot from the ground. He raised it, ready to crash it down on Janessa's head-

The chair froze in mid-air.

It was suddenly very cold in the room. Inyre's breath steamed in front of him. He grunted as he strained against the chair. It wouldn't move. It was like the air had set to glue around it. He grunted, pushing as hard as he could.

Then he heard them.

The stairs were creaking. Creak, creak, creak. Getting louder. And – he could hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

He stared at the door. He could feel his legs shaking. Sudden fear paralysed Inyre. It was coursing through his body. The room had become very quiet. He noticed Janessa was stood still, as if she was a statue. Her eyes were unfocused and unaware. Only the slight in-out of her chest revealed that she was still alive.

The creaks shifted to thuds. The feet had moved from the stairs to the landing beyond. Inyre's eyes tracked to the door handle.

Weirdness happened.

The door _rippled_. There was a pop of displaced air. A mass was suddenly present where there hadn't been one before. Inyre couldn't see the door anymore.

'So,' said Phelonas, 'it seems the silly little priest couldn't stay away, could he?'

The Chaos Marine was just as Inyre remembered from the brief glimpse. Backpack vents crafted into angry skulls. Silver edging, glinting in the light. Spikes everywhere. A bolter hing from his waist and a sword in a scabbard on the other side. Arcane runes were marked down the side of the scabbard. Two massive horns curved up from the Marine's helmet.

Incongrously Inyre thought to himself, No wonder he didn't use the door – they'd never fit under the lintel!

'You,' Inyre said weakly.

'Me,' Phelonas agreed. He said - something. A Word, Inyre didn't doubt. Even the sound of it was profane. He shuddered as the traitor spoke.

His hands were wrenched. With a crunch the chair fell to the floor. Sound returned – the twittering of birds outside, the distant rumble of cars, the beating of his heart. Janessa too unfroze – with a sigh she toppled back onto the bed, unconscious.

'Ow,' Inyre said, massaging one of his wrists.

Phelonas made a sniffing noise. 'Wait – yes, I know you. You were the jumped-up monkey they had at St Teelek's, weren't you?'

Inyre blinked. 'You weren't listening in?'

Phelonas's massive shoulder pads moved in a shrug. 'I let Janessa handle most of her own correspondence, if that's what you mean. It's more natural that way. Anyway I was busy. I keep half an eye on her, just in case something happens. I sensed her alarm, when you grabbed the chair. Well done – you got my attention, little human.'

'Release her,' Inyre demanded. 'She's done nothing to you! You don't need to hurt her anymore.'

'She exists,' Phelonas replied. 'Your cult exists. You exist. That's reason enough.'

'Your reasoning is foul. So are your plans!'

'So,' Phelonas said, 'you've guessed my little game, haven't you? You know that Tobias is dead, I take it?'

Not trusting himself to speak, Inyre just nodded.

The Chaos Marine sniffed again. 'No – you didn't guess, did you? You were there – that night with Leora. I thought I smelt something! However did you elude me?'

'I went outside, in the rain,' Inyre replied. 'It washed off my scent.'

'How remarkable,' the Chaos Marine said. 'Apparently you're not quite as stupid as you look. Tell me, how did you realise I was using her?' He gestured at Janessa.

'You talk too much,' Inyre said. 'So she talks too much.'

To his mild surprise, the Chaos Marine just nodded. 'I suppose I do. A character flaw, I accept. It's a side-effect of being surrounded by so many morons. My own voice is the only intelligent one I get to hear all day. If only some of you had something interesting to say – just once in a while! Is the occasional original thought too much to ask? Oh, I forget! This is the Imperium, so yes!' The traitor was clearly in a sarcastic mood.

'And the purpose of this scene is what?' Inyre asked.

'Your end,' the Chaos Marine replied. 'You've caused enough trouble. I'm going to have to edit her memories, you know. It's a repellent thought. She's no prettier on the inside, you know. Just a boiling mass of self-delusion, petty resentments and dislike of her betters. She calls it faith, you know! I call it an inferiority complex.'

'People will miss me,' Inyre said. 'They'll know I'm gone. They'll investigate. You'll be exposed.'

'You seem terribly sure of that,' the Chaos Marine said. 'I very much suspect they won't miss you, actually. Not enough to come looking, anyway. And even if they do, there won't be any body. No evidence, no crime. And it's not like anyone here will remember your little visit, either.'

The Chaos Marine's gauntleted hands were free, Inyre noted. The traitor hadn't drawn any of his weapons. He kept his eyes locked on the traitor's blood-red eye lenses. 'You're a fool if you think this can ever work,' Inyre told him.

'Oh really? And what genius revelation might stop me, then?'

'The Emperor's will is for your failure,' Inyre told him. 'You should fear His wrath.'

The Chaos Marine laughed. 'A corpse in a gilded freezer, you mean?' He waved an arm theatrically. 'I might as well fear the wrath of a sack of frozen potatoes – they're more real than your god! No, I think your prayers will go unanswered today.' Then the Chaos Marine looked up. 'I think-'

Inyre thought that little distraction was all he needed.

He'd learnt much on Jenneko. One thing he'd learnt was how to survive Chaos Marines. It wasn't easy. It required iron timing and iron self-will. A momentary doubt could cause a momentary hesitation – and Chaos Marines were always faster and stronger than you. Hesitation meant death.

As Phelonas looked up, Inyre grabbed the chair and hurled it at him.

The chair sailed through the air. Phelonas saw it, of course. He whirled round. He slammed up an arm to bat it aside. It clunked against the ceramite. 'Nice try-' he began.

Then the blanket landed on him.

As Inyre had thrown the chair, he'd turned round and grabbed the grey blanket. It had been lying all heaped up on the floor. In one smooth movement Inyre had whirled it up and thrown it after the chair.

It caught on the Marine's helmet-horns and tangled around them. Phelonas's head was abruptly wrapped in an unwashed sheet. The startled Chaos Marine instinctively ducked to the side. Momentarily blinded, he stumbled.

Inyre didn't wait any longer.

The window behind him was open. He dived out through it. He just barely managed not to fall over on the other side. He could feel his heart racing. His breath was gasping in and out. His old body wasn't up to much of this sort of exertion, but it would have to do for a few moments more.

Inside he heard a crash. It seemed the Chaos Marine was still off-balance. Phelonas shouted something, as much a bellow of anger as an actual word.

Inyre scrambled over the balcony rail. The garden floor was an uncomfortable distance below him. He reached out and snagged the drainpipe. He slid down it a short distance, before stopping himself by sticking a foot out onto a nearby window ledge. This window too was open.

There was another trick to fighting Chaos Marines, as well as speed. It was to do the unexpected. Phelonas would assume that he'd taken the drain pipe, like he'd done the last time he'd had to escape that room. Only this time, Inyre had no intention of repeating himself.

He pulled himself through the window, into another room. It was dark and empty. He walked to the door and waited, listening. He stood beside it, up against the wall. He could feel the bricks pressing in against his back. His heart was thudding.

He heard feet stomping on the stairs. They got louder. He heard a metallic snick – the sound of the safety on a bolter, he remembered. He also heard an angry voice, muttering. '-get you, you pious bastard-' The feet stomped past the door. Inyre heard them rattle down the stairs. Then they faded into the distance.

Through the window, he heard a door bang open down below.

He breathed again.

He remembered what the Chaos Marine had said, about his powers. It seemed they had some limits. The traitor could apparently sense things with his filthy psychic senses, but he'd implied that sense could be overwhelmed if too many minds were clustered together. That was why Inyre had gone back into the building. He hoped all the minds packed in here would hide his psychic 'scent'.

Inyre opened the door next to him. The stairway was deserted.

All he had to do was get out of here. Leave the building. Get to the street. The traitor couldn't possibly risk following him, not in broad daylight. Not when there were so many witnesses about. At night when there were just a few people, maybe – but not now!

There was no time to lose. Inyre ducked out and sprinted across the landing. His feet barely touched the treads as he raced down the steps. Then he was at the ground.

There was the front door, up ahead. It grew larger-

He heard a door bang behind him, and an enraged shout. 'There you are, you bastard!'

Inyre ran harder. He heard footfalls at the far end of the corridor. They were already gaining-

He was almost at the door! He reached for the lock-

'Oh no you don't,' an evil voice growled.

Some instinct made Inyre ducked. Behind him there was a loud _crack-bang_ – the sound of a discharging bolter. The door shuddered. Splinters sprayed out, where moments ago Inyre's hand had been.

And daylight shone through the hole where the lock had been.

Instinct took over. Knocked by the ferocious impact and its lock gone, the door was swinging loose. Inyre grabbed it and slammed it open. He dived out.

The steps tumbled past. He hit the pavement. Pain flared across his side. He gave it no mind. He struggled to his feet.

Inyre ran away down the street, startling several passers-by.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Phelonas could do nothing but watch from the concealment of the doorway.

15


	40. Chapter 40 A Feast and a Fear

The tent-flaps swirled behind them. The three Space Marines walked out. Patreus looked worried. Nasty looked angry. Alaster wasn't sure what his reaction was. The sounds of the camp surrounded them, chattering voices, motors and busy feet on the muddy grass. The three Ravens ignored the sounds as they walked away from the tent.

'So,' Nasty said, 'something bad's about to happen. And we don't get told what.'

'Kodos said he'll tell us soon enough,' Patreus put in. 'Just to go and enjoy the feast first.'

The three had been sent out of the tent shortly after Lakon's arrival. Apparently he and Kodos needed to confer with Kelso on something to do with whatever the Inquisitor was doing.

'I can't do that,' Nasty grumbled, 'when there's this feeling that skak's about to drop on us.'

'But holy ignorance is blissful,' Patreus said. His tone was serious but there may have been a hint of humour in his eyes.

Nasty glared at him. Belligerently, he said, 'No it skakking well isn't!'

Alaster shifted his helmet under one arm. His other was wrapped around the hilt of his chainsword. He wasn't feeling too secure right now – it was manifesting in an urge to be visibly-armed. 'And then there's the other thing,' he said. 'This Type II stuff.' He took a deep breath of the air. It smelt of grass, people and engine oil.

There was a rumbling from behind. They had to pause for a moment at the intersection of two tent-streets. A Predator drove past on its mighty tracks. Some mud sprayed out, just missing Nasty. 'Oi! Watch where you're going!' he said. The suns glinted on its gun-barrel. The tank drove off. They carried on walking.

'It's not good,' Patreus said, answering Alaster. 'If we're sick, we can't fight. And if we can't fight, we can't serve the Emperor.'

'We're not sick,' Nasty said.

'How do you know?' Patreus asked.

Nasty shrugged. 'You were there. The tests all came up negative.' Some mud squelched under his boots.

'She said they weren't definitive,' Alaster said.

'That doesn't mean they have to be wrong,' Nasty said. 'Look, let's take this down a level. Does anyone feel sick?'

There was silence for a moment. Then Alaster said, 'No.'

'Me neither,' Patreus agreed.

'There you go,' Nasty replied. 'If something were really wrong, I'm sure we'd know about it by now.'

They were silent for the rest of the journey.

The encampment stopped a certain way down the side of the valley. Beyond the last of the tents, the grass sloped off toward the lake.

Further down, between the tents and the new waterside, several ranks of trestle tables and benches had been folded out. There were quite a lot of them. They were positioned in a semi-circle overlooking the new lake. Down by the waterside, Chapter serfs were fishing drowned Nids out of the water. Their corpses were being dumped onto several big heaps spread long the shoreline. Some more serfs were pouring some sort of liquid over the soaked bodies.

At the front of the semi-circle a small stage had been erected. Alaster noted a small conference occurring in front of it. He saw several different colours of armour – Ravens' blue-black, the Ultramarines' blue, the Wolves' grey, the Eagles' silver and the Hawks' red. He also noted a lot of gold, decoration and Terminator suits. It seemed the Astartes commanders were having a conference.

Most of the benches at the tables were already full. Alaster realised he'd never seen this many Space Marines in one place before. Almost the entire Storm Ravens force was here, all five companies. So were all of the Cog-Wolves. Alaster also recognised substantial detachments from the other Chapters. Alaster picked the nearest table and counted the number of brothers sat around it in. Ten – so call it a squad per table. He counted the tables along the row, and then the number of rows. Multiplying the numbers together…

He whistled quietly in awe.

'What is it?' Nasty asked.

Alaster pointed. 'At least fifteen hundred, that's what!' He pointed at the tables.

Patreus looked awestruck. 'That's more than an entire Chapter!'

Alaster nodded. 'There probably aren't many people alive who've seen anything like this,' he said. His training had suggested that a large deployment by Astartes standards was thirty battle-brothers – so what did that make nearly two thousand? It was enough to make him forget his troubles. A sight like this was enough to wipe any doubt from his mind. Seeing this many warriors, unified in the Emperor's service, and _knowing that he was one of them_ … Alaster felt a shiver of awe.

Behind the stage something was going on. A group of serfs were pulling on some ropes. A flagpole was being pulled up. Moments later, something was brought to its base and tied onto the cord. Shortly after that, a cheer rose from the assembled Space Marines as the Imperial Eagle was raised over the gathering.

'Looks like we're just in time,' Nasty said.

The three made their way toward the Ravens' tables. They were intercepted on the way by Eorvan.

'There you are,' he said, not looking at all pleased to see them. 'About time. Where's Kodos?'

'Talking with the Captain, Brother-Corporal,' Alaster said. 'It didn't sound like good news.'

'Is any news good?' Eorvan asked rhetorically. 'Never mind, you're wanted at the front.'

The front? Alaster wondered what ever for. Nonetheless he and the others followed Eorvan forward.

'What've we done now, do you think?' Nasty asked Patreus.

Patreus didn't answer.

Sandrer and Fegust were already stood below the stage. With them were Eirik and Haakon. Realisation dawned on Alaster. It was something to do with the dam.

As they approached the stage, a hush settled over the tables. Alaster realised a lot of eyes were looking at them. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. It made him want to shove his helmet back on and disappear into the background. He tried not to squirm too visibly under the attention.

Nasty, by contrast, appeared to be loving it.

There was movement off to one side. The Chapter leaders had broken off their conference. They walked up onto the stage, via a short flight of temporary steps at one side. Alaster heard the boards creaking under their boots.

He wondered if they were still supposed to be stood here. Haakon and Eirik looked completely calm, though, and no-one had waved them away. Alaster took that as a good sign.

The boards creaked. One of the Terminators stepped forward. Alaster tried to risk a glance over his shoulder, only to realise his view was blocked by his backpack. How inconvenient. Trying not to be too conspicuous, Alaster shifted around a bit.

Einarr Thorbjornsson was stood at the front of the platform.

'Brothers,' he said, speaking loudly, 'all of you. My men. The Ultras. The Hawks. The Eagles and the Ravens. We are all gathered here today in celebration. Today we have scored a victory. A victory as great as it was unexpected.' He gestured at the lake. 'We came here this morning on the expectation of selling our lives dearly. Well the bugs were selling too – and they undercut us!'

Alaster boggled. Had the Wolf Lord just told a _joke_?

It seemed he had. He heard guffaws of laughter from the Space Wolf benches. Some of the Ravens and the Hawks joined in. The Doom Eagles looked unimpressed. There was no response, one way or the other, from the Ultras.

'No man amongst us would hesitate to die if so called,' Thorbjornsson continued. 'This we all know for a fact. Today, though, the Emperor chose to spare us that sacrifice. And in large part we owe this salvation to these men before us.' Thorbjornsson gestured to the base of the platform. Alaster realised the Wolf Lord meant _them_. 'They showed initiative and bravery at the dam. They turned us from the brink of defeat to a crushing victory.'

Suddenly the attention of the gathering was turned on them. Alaster wasn't sure he liked it. He was half-wishing he'd left his helmet on. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nasty straighten up. It seemed not every marine minded being the centre of attention. For his part, Patreus looked thunderstruck.

Alaster shifted his weight. The wooden board underneath his feet creaked quietly. He could hear the waves of the new lake lapping on the shore in the background, and the flags flapping in the light wind.

Thorjornsson said, 'In honour of this victory, today we shall hold a great feast. This is your day, brothers. Every warrior has acquitted himself with honour.

'But first, it is only fitting that the taint of the xeno should be burned from this land.'

There was movement behind them. Feet treading on wooden boards. Some chapter serfs carried a brazier onto the platform. Wood was stacked next to it. The boards protested as the new weights were lowered onto them. The serfs bowed to the marines, then shuffled off of the stage.

Thorbjornsson gestured toward the brazier and the planks. 'It is said that fire is holy. Today flame will be used to cleanse the last of the taint.' He looked at the group on the stage. 'Thanks to these warriors, and their quick thinking, we have our victory today. It is only appropriate that they should be the ones to burn the alien from this land. Brothers, I want each of you to take a brand. Light it in the fire, then choose one of mounds.' He gestured to the piles of dead Nids along the shoreline. 'When I give the word, light them. Once they are all burning, the victory feast will begin.'

Moments later Alaster was stood before a heap of mangled Tyranid wreckage. Glassy, dead bug-eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. Broken limbs jutted out from the mound. Ichor-splattered carapaces presented their chipped and battered sides. The whole pile was glossy, soaked with engine fuel.

Alaster stood before it. The waves sloshed quietly on the temporary shore, nearby. Already the level of the new lake was sinking, he could see. There was nothing bounding it at the other end, except a constriction in the valley – it would flood out in due course. Several feet from the new edge lay the high water line, a sinuous trail of disturbed mud and fragments of Nids.

The two suns glimmered on the water.

In his hand Alaster was clutching a length of wood. It had been soaked in engine oil too – it was burning, sooty red flames spluttering from one end. Ocassionally they would flare with other colours, blues and greens, as pockets of impurity were burnt. Like almost everything else on Minoris, the impact-winter had tainted the wood. Still, it was burning all the same. The flames crackled and he could smell the smoke.

'Brothers,' he heard Thorbjornsson shout, 'light the pyres!'

Alaster threw his brand into the mound of Tyranids. A line of bluish flames washed up over the fuel. Moments later, the organic wreckage underneath caught lit. With a crackle and a roar, the pyre burst into flame. Smoke curled up into the air.

'The feast begins!' Thorbjornsson cried. 'Brothers – for victory!'

A deafening cheer rolled out from the throats of the assembled Space Marines.

Alaster turned around, looking over the assembly. He let the cheering roll over him. He didn't feel any urge to join in. He was thinking about what he'd heard earlier in the day.

He wondered if there was anything to celebrate.

Sure enough, bad news didn't take long to find them.

'…and it was this big!' Nasty's breath smelt of alcohol. He was holding his gauntleted hands apart, gesticulating with merry drunkenness. He was trying to convey the size of the genestealers they'd encounter earlier, at the artillery ridge.

'No,' cut in Haakon, leaning forward, 'they were THIS big!' He held his arms even further apart. 'And I scragged more of them then you!' He looked at Nasty, with humorous challenge in his eyes.

'Only because you were sat up there, safe in a landspeeder,' Nasty groused. 'We were on the ground, in the thick of it. We didn't have heavy bolters – I think our kills count twice!'

'Then you still only did a third what I did!' Haakon growled. He wasn't angry, though. There was mirth in his eyes. Like many of the Space Wolves, he enjoyed a good boast.

'You know what this is?' Nasty said. 'This is an insult to our honour! There's only one way to settle this!'

Patreus leaned over to Alaster. 'Let's hope for a duel to the death,' he said.

Nasty wasn't paying attention. He raised his flagon and downed the last of the beer. He held the empty vessel aloft. 'DRINKING CONTEST!' he roared.

'Now that's a challenge I can't refuse!' Haakon said. The wolves sat at the other end of the table roared with laughter.

Alaster was watching all of this from behind his beer. He wasn't anything like as drunk as Nasty. It was several hours into the celebration – the suns had gone down and the sky was stained with the deep blue of late evening. The first stars were out and the crescent of Majoris was a bright, shiny blue-white low on the western horizon. The night side was picked out with little flecks of light – hive cities, glowing in the dark. The feast was in full swing around them – torches had been staked out by all the tables. The hillside was lit with lots of bright little flames. The valley echoed with the sounds of eating, chatter and drunken singing.

Since the start of the celebration, the squad had found themselves much in demand. Everyone seemed to want to hear the tale of the dam. They'd found themselves going from table to table, being repeatedly plied with food and alcohol. They'd now ended up with the Space Wolves.

'Hey! You! Over here!' Nasty enthusiastically waved his empty flagon at a passing Chapter serf. 'Fill this up! It's empty!'

With polite forbearance, the serf refilled the vessel. He moved onto the nearest of the Space Wolves, a big, bearded warrior with auburn dreadlocks and a visible need for more alcohol.

Alaster was just looking back to his drink when a hand landed on his shoulder. He started, hand automatically reaching for his bolt pistol.

'It's me,' Kodos said.

Alaster twisted round. 'Sergeant.' Kodos's mechanical eye glinted in the torchlight. 'What is it?'

Kodos looked grim. 'Party's over.'

'What is it?' Alaster asked.

'The Inquisitor,' he replied. 'Lady Sharrow wants us, apparently.'

What her ladyship wanted, she got. Or so it appeared to the marines as they found themselves abruptly plucked from the celebration. They found themselves herded aboard a Thunderhawk, then whisked away from the equatorial valley. A suborbital flight later saw them deposited at the spaceport outside Albatross. Space Marine metabolisms being what they were, by the time the Thunderhawk touched down, the Storm Ravens were all stone-cold sober again. Nasty spent most the journey moaning about being taken away from his pint. Moan he might, but he hadn't hesitated when ordered to board the Thunderhawk.

They were met at the spaceport by two Rhinos, a Land Raider and Inquisitor-Lady Ariela Sharrow. If given the choice, Alaster would privately have been quite happy just to settle for the tanks. Nonetheless, it wasn't his decision. The troops were divided up into different vehicles in the convoy. Shortly, Alaster found himself aboard the Land Raider as it rumbled into life and started on its way toward the Governor's Palace.

Inside it, along with them, was the Inquisitor.

Kodos was there too. Alaster was sat on one of the benches, feeling awkward. His helmet was sat on his lap. Lady Sharrow was sat opposite. She was dressed with impeccable style, looking every inch the powerful noblewoman. By contrast, Alaster was uncomfortably aware of the mud, grass and dried ichor still splattered over his armour. He could smell it too, adding an organic undertone to the machine-oil and metal scent of the Land Raider's interior. The rumble of the engine was all around them, and the grate of the tracks on the road surface.

Kodos was looking at Lady Sharrow. 'With respect,' he said, 'why exactly are we here?'

Although she was dressed elegantly, there were shadows underneath Lady Sharrow's eyes. She looked drawn, and a little tired. She took a deep breath. 'I need back-up, Brother-Sergeant.'

Kodos said carefully, 'There are plenty of troops in the city.'

'Yes,' she said. 'Minorian ones. And I'm going to give them good reason to want me dead.'

'Really?' Kodos asked. 'Surely any loyal citizen would know better? Attacking an Imperial agent in the line of their duty … that's the stuff of treason and damnation.'

She nodded. 'Frankly, if someone doesn't make an attempt on my life…' She reached into a pocket and pulled out a slate. She put it on her lap and patted it. 'If I read this proclamation out, and they just _sit there_ – frankly, that apathy would be even more damning. A terminal failure of spirit, if nothing else.'

Kodos looked sober. 'I understand the wargames aren't going well. I'm led to understand that more extreme remedies are being discussed. The atomic variety, so I hear.'

Lady Sharrow sighed and rolled her eyes. 'The rumours are leaking out, so I see. Only to be expected, I suppose.' She looked closely at Kodos. 'The question I have is, can I count on the Astartes?'

Kodos blinked. He actually looked shocked. Alaster was staring too – what a thing to say! The engines growled loudly as the Land Raider turned a corner.

Stiffly, Kodos said, 'My lady, we are loyal. The Storm Ravens have always followed our duty. I'm not sure what you're implying.'

'I imply nothing.' She shook her head. 'Your loyalty isn't in doubt, Brother-Sergeant. But sometimes there can be questions about where that duty lies.'

'Wherever lawful authority directs, of course,' Kodos said. 'With respect my lady – where is this going?'

'Exterminatus,' she said. She tapped the slate. Her fingernails clacked on the screen. In the background, the engine growled. 'A global cleansing. This globe, as it happens.'

Kodos and Alaster were both staring.

Alaster felt the urge to speak. 'Did I hear you correctly, Lady Sharrow?' he asked. He was startled at his own boldness – but not as startled as he was by what she'd said.

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Yes you did, Brother.' She lifted the slate. 'The proclamation is here. In fifty-five days' time, this planet is to be cleansed by fire. Carpet-bombing with fusion weapons, pole to pole. The solar option.'

'So,' Kodos said, 'has everything we've done been for nothing? My brothers have shed their blood on this world – for this world!' He looked angry. He pounded a fist into the palm of his other hand. Ceramite plates scraped against each other.

Lady Sharrow sighed. Then she did something Alaster would never have imagined.

She reached into another pocket and produced a hip flask. She thumbed the cap off. It slipped back with a metallic _snick_. A smell of alcohol drifted into the cabin. She tipped it up and took a deep slug. Then she matter-of-factly put the cap on and replaced the flask.

She looked up at the Space Marines. 'No, Brother-Sergeant. Your sacrifices here have bought us time. The hive centre strike was a powerful blow – without it this would have ended by now. And what you did at the river today helps as well. It's why we can wait two months. Otherwise we'd have to do this tomorrow.'

Kodos was angry. 'Fifty-five days or two months, what difference does it make? My brothers have laid down their lives - to save a world that you'll burn!'

'It means,' Lady Sharrow said carefully, 'that we have fifty-five days. Your sacrifices have bought us some time. We can attempt an evacuation. We needn't lose _everything_ from this debacle.' She took a deep breath, held it, then released it slowly. 'So, Brother-Sergeant, I ask you again. Can I count on the Space Marines?'

Kodos was silent.

Alaster looked to the sergeant, unsure what to do. Should he say something? What should he say? He felt weird and uncomfortable, angry and frustrated at the same time. All they'd done here – all the risks they'd taken, all the things they'd faced! He thought of their drop-pod arrival on Minoris. He remembered their rendezvous with the Wolves. He thought of that long, dangerous trek through the night. All that, for this!

All for nothing. It _burned_.

Lady Sharrow stared intently at Kodos. 'If not, then I ask you one thing only – just shoot me now. Because frankly, I don't want to watch what will happen when the Tyranids overrun this system.'

Kodos stared. The moment seemed to drag on. The Land Raider's low rumble continued. Alaster shifted on the bench. Finally, Kodos said, 'The Storm Ravens have never rebelled. We won't today. But not for your benefit – we have our honour to think about.'

Alaster blinked as Kodos delivered the insult to the Inquisitor. He expected an angry rejoinder or some sort of reprimand. Instead she just sagged slightly – she _sagged_! – and nodded, looking tired and relieved. 'Okay. Thank you. That's as much as I can dare to ask.'

Alaster felt the need to speak again. 'My lady,' he said, 'this – is this really necessary?'

She met his eyes. 'This slate on my lap, Brother – it comes straight from Holy Terra herself. The Motherworld. The capital. It was given to me just before I left on this assignment. It's a burden that I never sought and never wanted.'

'What do you mean?' Alaster asked.

'This system is a problem for the Imperium,' she explained. 'It's a junction for the entire sector – so many Warp routes branch here. If you want to travel to anywhere else in this area, you have to transit through here. Or at least, you have to if you want any chance of surviving your journey. The Warp is hardly a safe place.

'But of course that also means that all the trade flows through here. All the shipping, all the goods, all the people. Majoris has made itself rich off of the transit-tithes, and Minoris has benefited as well. But there's a peril in there. It makes this system a key choke-point. Lose it and the Imperium loses the sector.'

'We know this already,' Kodos said.

She nodded. 'Yes, but do you understand what this implies? Because defeat at Riothria will have an impact a long way from here. Lose this system, we lose the sector. Lose the sector and its neighbours all lose a trading partner. Trade will fail. Jobs will go. Planetary currencies will weaken. Some will fall. Ripples will spread. It will damage the entire Segmentum. And it will sap the Imperium as a whole. We live in troubled times, Brother-Marines. Too many of this key failure points are already under pressure. One could imagine a sort of domino effect, spreading through the Imperium. Leaving chaos and ruin in its wake. You wouldn't need that many worlds to fall – just the right ones, in the right places. And not to mention that Fafnir will carry on, deeper into the Galaxy. The are more worlds beyond here, further into the disk – juicier worlds, filled with even more innocents. If Fafnir isn't crushed here, they will be endangered too.'

Alaster shivered. Lady Sharrow's speech reminded him of something. He was remembering his own conversation with Patreus, that day on Gamma, just after their arrival. She was confirming what he had already suspected, about the secret fragility of the Imperium. It wasn't a welcome revelation.

Kodos said, 'My lady, I'm aware of the stakes we face.' He patted his plasma pistol. 'All Space Marines are. Ignorance is a luxury, and our duty leaves no room for luxuries.'

'You're not the only ones,' she said. 'These orders – this slate. Its contents come from Holy Terra – from the High Lords themselves. They've all personally – _personally!_ – signed it.'

Kodos boggled. 'What?'

'Surely not?' said Alaster.

'Yes, you did hear me correctly. The Imperial Senate itself has taken an interest. They've intervened _on the scale of an individual world._ I wouldn't say that's unprecedented, but … Well, that alone gives you an idea how serious this situation is. The stability threat here is coded as Nightmare Violet. I've never seen a threat-category that high before. I'd thought the scale stopped at Nightmare Blue. Apparently it doesn't.'

'What does Nightmare Violet mean?' Kodos asked. 'The highest I've ever come across is Dream Yellow.'

'Nightmare Violet means this could cascade into an Imperium-wide depression,' she replied. 'This system is a key junction. Its loss would be crippling -domino effect time. Economic and political chaos – almost everywhere. Mass unemployment. A collapse in industrial production. Not enough guns, not enough ships, food rotting in warehouses. Famine and food riots on hive worlds. Parts-shortages and bankruptcies on agri-worlds. Instability everywhere – factional uprisings, insurrections, governments collapsing. Strife and disunity. All that will have a horrific effect on our ability to defend ourselves. And the Galaxy is full of predators. They will scent our weakness, and strike. The Imperium would _probably_ survive, but it would be at horrific cost. I've seen the estimates. The moderate scenario has us eventually losing five percent of our current worlds – and thirty trillion dead.'

'That's the moderate?' Kodos asked.

She nodded. 'Just trust me on this. You don't want to see the worst-case projections. I understand that one of the Tech-Adepts who ran the simulation – apparently he was so overcome with despair that he took his own life.'

For a time they were all silent. The Land Raider growled on. The air still smelt faintly of industrial chemicals, synthetic and menacing.

'Is there an optimistic scenario?' Alaster said after a time.

'Yes. That's the one where we burn Minoris.'

'How is that optimistic?' Alaster asked.

'Because in that scenario, we starve Hive Fleet Fafnir of biomass. We pull back all our remaining forces to Majoris and make a fight of it. We harry them – whittle down their numbers. They're not getting any replacements, remember.

'It's close and Fafnir does a lot of damage – but the tactical simulations are clear. We _can_ win that one. In that case, the Hive Fleet is broken, the Shadow dissipates from the Warp and travel and trade return almost to normal. The sector isn't cut off, the neighbours aren't driven into recession and collapse and a galactic depression is averted. At the moment, that is the best we can hope for.'

'And your orders?' Kodos asked.

'The High Lords,' she said, 'have listed a set of strategic criteria. If the situation deteriorates past these, the orders are to cut the Imperium's losses and pull back to Majoris. If Minoris becomes indefensible, we aren't to waste our strength trying to hold it. But we aren't to leave it for the Tyranids either. There is no ambiguity in there. Terra is clear on what must be done. Gentlemen I can't defy an order from _Earth herself_. I can't claim to be happy about this, but my personal feelings, frankly, are quite irrelevant at this point.'

'And fifty-five days?' Kodos asked.

'I have some discretion,' she said. 'The loss of an entire world – it may be a _necessary_ thing, but no-one thinks that's a _good_ thing. That would be mad.'

'Necessary versus good,' Kodos said. 'I was taught that they're the same.'

'I'll grant you that it's a subtle distinction, but it's a critical one. And there are plenty of people here with skills the Imperium needs – soldiers, workers, administrators and so on. Although our situation is dire, we aren't going to lose the planet tomorrow. We can hold off for a while. Long enough to attempt an evacuation. In one respect we're lucky – there's an inhabitable planet just next door, which may just make an evacuation possible. I understand that luxury isn't normally available.'

'And the figure of fifty-five days? Is that long enough to get everyone off?'

She reached for her pocket again. Her hand came out with the hip flask. Alaster stared, shocked by the scene. Lady Sharrow, forced to drink! It was inconceivable, and yet it was happening right in front of him. Clearly, however calm her exterior, the Inquisitor was feeling the strain.

Then she noticed his eyes on the flask. With a shrug, she put it away, unopened. To Kodos, she said, 'Fifty-five days will _have_ to be enough. It's the most latitude that it's strategically possible for me to give. As I said before – but for what you did today, we would have had to do this _tomorrow_. Everyone would die. At least this way there will be some survivors.'

'You say _tomorrow._ So you _knew_ about the Nids, south of the pass?'

'No but we suspected. Satellite footage showed hints of movement. It was believed that a larger force than expected could be assembling. Problem was, we had no actual intelligence, just supposition.'

Another awkward silence fell. The Land Raider rumbled on, with admirable fortitude. Alaster wished he felt as implacable. This was black news indeed – no Space Marine feared death, but failure was a horror of immense proportions.

Finally, feeling the need to speak, he said, 'The southern hemisphere is the tainted one. Couldn't you just bomb that?'

Lady Sharrow smiled, in a drawn and tired sort of way. She looked sad rather than amused. 'That's not workable. Believe me, we've had these conversations. If we just – just! – nuke the south, then we throw up an enormous plume of ash into the sky. The winds would spread it, sending storms and fallout everywhere. The rains would be tainted. People would need to shelter indoors for weeks – months. Agriculture and industry will halt. And all the soot will block the sunlight. Temperatures would plunge. The atomic winter would make the impact cooling look like a warm summer's day - and the freeze would last for years. Short of massive food aid from outside, the people of Minoris would be condemned to starve. Or freeze. Or die of radiation sickness.'

'Not much of an option.' Kodos agreed with visible reluctance.

'And do you know what's worse? If we do that, and if we miss _even a single Tyranid spore_, then all this will just happen all over again!' She shook her head. 'No, I'm sorry to say this, but if we have to do this we have to do it properly. Half-measures will bring us no relief.'

'Skak,' Alaster said quietly.

She nodded. 'Yes. Yes, I think that sums this situation up quite nicely.'

Kodos didn't look happy, but he nodded in reluctant acquiescence. 'So, my lady, what next?'

'We're going to the Palace,' she explained, gesturing at the Land Raider around them. 'This is where I have to give the Interim Council the bad news.'

'The Interim Council?' Kodos asked.

'Oh, you didn't hear? It is – it _would have been_ – the new government. I'd been so busy setting it up. It's what's left of the Losers's Estates-General and delegates from the the loyal cities. It's supposed to draft a new constitution. And help me run the planet in the meantime. The plan was a vote on the document after the Tyranids were driven off, and then elections to the new assemblies a couple of months afterward.'

'The offices were going to be elective?' Kodos asked.

She nodded. 'I wanted to make sure that neither Sarrack nor his cronies could make a come-back. The commons hate him and his puppets. There's no chance they'd survive. I'd also thought responsible ministries would be a bit more dynamic.' She sighed. 'It wasn't a bad idea, in principle. Unfortunately, circumstances have superseded it. It's also vaguely annoying. I mean, I only just finished convening the Interim Council this morning!'

Kodos blinked. 'What took so long?'

'Politics. Lots of people felt they had points to make. There was moaning and threats of walk-outs. It was all a bit pathetic, but if this was to work, it had to at least _look_ like something Minoris has chosen for itself. Having half the Council not show up on the first day would be a bad start.'

'Not a problem now, I suppose,' Kodos said.

She shook her head. 'No. None at all, really.'

'So what do you need us for?'

'I'm going to have to give the Council – and the planet – news it won't like. As I said, there _will_ be an attempt on my life. At least one. My staff and I have tried to keep this quiet, but rumours will leak, particularly about things like this. Problem is, if anyone's to survive this, they're going to need me more then ever in the next few weeks. I don't think there's anyone else here who could get something like this co-ordinated.' She shrugged. 'Frankly, with news like this, if my life was the only one resting on it, they could have it. Brothers, to be clear about one thing – this is career-ending as far as I'm concerned.'

'Really?' Kodos asked.

'Yes. I was sent here in the hope of finding a way to rescue the situation. And that I've manifestly failed at. And in failing I've cost the Imperium a planet. Of course the Inquisition will back me in public, and the Administatum – they'll have to. If they didn't, it would undermine the idea of divine guidance. But in private? Well, if we do this, and it stops the Nids, they'll probably let me live. But it'll be the last time anyone will let me so much as boil a kettle on my own. Losing a planet is _not good_.'

'You're telling us,' Alaster observed.

'So what do you need from us at the Palace?' Kodos asked.

'I need you to stand behind me and look scary,' she said. 'So nothing particularly difficult.'

'How will us looking scary help?'

'I need them cowed into submission long enough for me to explain the plan,' she replied. 'And as I said, self-interested as it may be it would be useful for me to stay alive. If I can organise an evacuation, then maybe we can rescue something from this mess. But if I end up dead, then that won't happen.'

'And the Exterminatus?'

'That goes ahead whatever happens to me. The strategic situation is too important.' She drummed her fingernails on the slate. 'I sent the fleet the orders earlier today. Whether I'm alive or not, in fifty-five days' time, the sky turns to fire.'

Kodos nodded. 'Okay, that makes some sort of sense.'

'I've also sent communiqués to the Astartes captains,' she explained. 'The plan is, while I'm talking, the Astartes forces drop in and secure the spaceports. We're going to need every ship on this planet – the last thing we need is panicky crews bolting.'

'So we're not the only people missing the party,' Kodos said. Presuably, even as they spoke, the celebration at the lake side would be breaking up. Brothers would be gathering their arms and separating out unit by unit. Marine after marine would be boarding Thunderhawks, ahead of imminent deployment.

'Yes. Sorry about that.' She looked awkward. 'For what it's worth, you've earnt your beer, and I wouldn't've pulled you away from it unless it mattered.'

Kodos nodded. 'We have our duty. You owe us no apologies.'

'And then after this, there's one other bit of business.'

'What would that be?' Kodos asked.

'I'm going to need the full co-operation of Majoris,' she said. 'Only unfortunately there's a little … difficulty, shall we say, with a certain few people over there. They need to be sent a message, and I don't have time for subtlety.'

The Interim Council was meeting in what had been one of the Governor's audience chambers. Its walls had been decorated with tapestries, hand-woven in gold thread and fine silks, covered in images of Sarrack looking bold and determined. (All of the artists' depictions had somehow overlooked his second chin and his stomach was rather flatter in the portraits.) Beyond the tapestries, grand arched windows looked out over the city beyond, the windows arranged to frame its lights with stained-glass depictions of the House of Sarrack's many noble deeds (most of which had been carried out by paid underlings, underlings who went mysteriously uncredited on the panes).

Now, the tapestries were all gone. Lady Sharrow had got rid of them on her second day in the Palace. She'd been taken one look at them, and her artistic judgement had gone down into legend amongst the remaining serving staff. It was made all the more remarkable by the fact that she hadn't actually sworn once – but swear words or not, her disapproval had been made plain. The Inquisitor seemed to find the egoistic self-promotion of incompetents like Sarrack to be thoroughly objectionable.

As for the grand arched windows, the stained glass was still there but the prospect was less gaudy. With power cuts and rolling blackouts, the city beyond was all too often dark. The Palace itself had its own, dedicated electrical supply, but when the city was dark, the only light in the panes was reflected from inside. This evening was the central district's turn on the power conservation rota. The gilded panes and tinted glass of the Sarrack family's many supposed deeds were dull, the colours only apparent on close inspection.

As he was stood at the back along with his squad, Alaster had a good view around the room. He had his helmet firmly clamped on and a hand on each of his weapons. Lady Sharrow was walking forwards toward a speaker's podium, erected on a small platform in the middle of the room. Clustered in a double half-circle around it were the wooden desks and leather armchairs assigned to the members of the Interim Council. They had been rounded up a few minutes earlier. They were sat at their seats, looking equal parts bored, confused and – in the case of the Council's brighter members – somewhat worried. Clearly not many of them knew for sure why they were here – there was uncertainty in the air, but not that much actual fear.

Alaster's gauntleted hand tightened on the grip of his bolt pistol. That would change quickly enough, he knew. An assassination attempt in the Council chamber seemed unlikely but it was hardly impossible. And much as he didn't like the Inquisitor's announcement inside the Rhino, he reluctantly had to admit that she had made some sense. It was eerie, hearing how much the analysis of the highest echelons of the Imperium had agreed with his own amateur speculations on board the bus on Gamma.

'Okay you lot,' Kodos said over their earphones, 'look sharp. Watch the hangers-on at the back of the room. That's where an attack will come from, if anything happens. Eorvan, get your men watching the left of the room. Karo, you have the right. Spread out – but try not to make too much of a fuss of it. Don't want to spook them all.'

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster said. He glanced at Patreus and Nasty, stood to his side. 'You heard him. Nasty, get over to the side of the window, on the far right. Keep your back to the wall, though. Patreus, take the middle. I'll stay near the door.'

The room was a wide oval. One side of the oval was the windows. The door was in the middle of the other arc of the oval. Alaster was hoping that by spreading out, they could cover all the angles.

The double door that led into the audience chamber was wide enough for a squad to pass through, side by side. It was flanked by high dressed-stone columns. The vaulted roof was lost in the gloom somewhere above. The chandeliers that hung down from it couldn't quite seem to reach up that far with their light.

Alaster watched as his brother-marines moved along the back wall. As well as the Council itself, the back of the room was packed with bureaucrats, journalists, servants and miscellaneous hangers-on. People might not quite know what was going on, but rumours were flying. They'd heard that the Inquisitor was going to make an announcement. Since she'd appointed herself temporary head of planetary government, she had become hard to ignore. The rumour mill was in overdrive – people wanted to have some idea what was going on. It made for a crowded room.

Clearly, though, they hadn't expected the presence of Space Marines. Alaster had to watch with some amusement as Nasty and Patreus pushed through the crowd. The bureaucrats had been watching the Inquisitor intently. Some of them had hardly noticed her retinue. As Alaster watched, he noted one hanger-on who was so intent on Lady Sharrow that the man didn't even register Patreus's approach. Patreus actually had to jab him in the ribs to get him to move aside. The man turned his head, an annoyed expression on his face – then blanched and dropped his armful of papers as he came face-to-chest with Patreus's chest-eagle.

As the startled bureaucrat dived out of the way, Patreus stepped past.

Alaster was trying not to laugh. He was succeeding, but he knew he was smirking inside his helmet.

Moments later, Patreus was in position.

The Inquisitor called the proceedings to order. She rapped her knuckles on the lectern. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. The smart people were looking her way anyway.

The room fell silent.

'Thank you for your attention,' Lady Sharrow said, all smiles. 'Gentlemen and ladies, I will try not to take up more of your time then is necessary. Regrettably, the news I have isn't good.' She reached into a pocket and drew out the slate.

Then she told them what was to be done.

The room exploded into uproar. No sooner had she said the word e-word then people started shouting. Some were shouting questions. Some were yelling angry abuse. Some just seemed to want to make noise. The pandemonium echoed through the high-vaulted chamber. Arms were wind-milling. Faces were red and puffy. Several people were crying. Some were white with fear. Some were furious. A few people were just sat there in the audience, looking confused. Alaster could see the denial writ clear on their faces. This was outside of their experience. Surely there must be some mistake? This couldn't be happening, they were thinking.

Lady Sharrow said something to Kodos. Alaster didn't hear what, amongst the furore. But Kodos nodded and drew his plasma pistol. He raised it and pulled the trigger.

A bolt of plasma screamed into one of the chandeliers.

It exploded. The _bang_ echoed through the chamber. Glass and metal showered down, tinkling on the flagstones. The air reeked of burnt metal. Silence returned. Fearful eyes were staring at Lady Sharrow.

The last chandelier shards clinked onto the floor.

'It is my intention,' she said, speaking into the quiet, 'to organise an evacuation. As we speak, the authorities on Majoris are being informed. Their co-operation is required.'

A brave – or perhaps desperate – soul in the audience put their hand up. 'My lady – is there enough room on Majoris? It's crowded already and – and there's more than a billion of us!'

A worried murmur went through the audience.

Lady Sharrow shook her head. 'No. In fact, thanks to Governor Sarrack's incompetence, we're not looking at evacuating _billions_ of people. Anyone who could afford to flee, did earlier in the war. Lots more people died subsequently. In hospitals, during power cuts. Of hunger, when the harvests failed. Of cold, from the energy shortages. Or of disease, war's constant companion. And, of course, there are the many, many dead on the front lines.' She raised her hands skyward. 'Our best estimate is that there are less than three hundred million human beings left on Minoris.'

That revelation brought shocked gasps. Someone else put up a hand. 'Your Ladyship – no-one told us that.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'The scale of the humanitarian disaster here – that was held back, for morale reasons. Obviously that's something of an irrelevance now.'

Another hand was raised. There was a growing murmur of conversation amongst the audience. The quiet was fading. The new hand's owner spoke. 'Three hundred million is still a lot. Is this – can we be sure this is practicable?'

'There are six big commercial ports in the northern hemisphere,' Lady Sharrow said. 'They normally handle around half a million journeys a day, under conventional management. With military efficiency, my planners tell me that can be doubled. Six ports, moving out a million people per day – in principle, that way, we could move three hundred and thirty million people in the time left to us. As it happens, my planners' best guess is two hundred and eighty million survivors – so there is some margin for error. In the meantime, we are changing our strategic aims. I will now be directing our armies to protect the ports, and the transportation links. Our priority now is simply the evacuation itself. Once an area is empty, there's no point wasting lives to keep the xenos out of it. And-'

Then it happened.

A man on the second row leapt up. There was a crunch as his chair was kicked aside. Someone shouted as he pushed past them. There were cries and yells – he clambered over a woman in the front row. She hadn't quite moved fast enough. His foot kicked her in the face. The man didn't appear to notice. The woman was knocked backward, blood running down from her mashed nose.

The man was staring at Lady Sharrow. His face was contorted with a desperate hate. He struggled over the last of the chairs. His feet slapped on the stonework as he landed on the floor. Free of the audience, he ran straight at Lady Sharrow. 'I'll get you, you bitch-'

He never finished the insult.

There was another crackle-roar. A flash of white light dazzled everyone for a moment. The plasma bolt slammed into the man's torso. His stomach exploded, the water in his tissues flash-boiled in the sudden heat. The top of his body was thrown up. Then it flopped to the ground, slapping wetly onto the stonework. His legs toppled over, crumpling to the ground as they were severed from the rest of him. Bits of burnt residue scattered around.

The scent of cooked meat wafted across the room.

Kodos was holding his plasma pistol out, where everyone could see it. The glowing light on the cooling veins swirled and fluctuated. 'Anyone else does anything funny,' Kodos growled, 'and you just saw what'll happen. Now _sit down and SHUT UP!'_

He was doing his best drill-sergeant voice, Alaster noted. It worked, too. The audience dropped back to their seats. Quiet was restored. A dissipating scent of bacon lingered in the air.

Lady Sharrow merely nodded. 'Ladies and gentlemen, for what it's worth, the Imperial authorities will have words with me once we're done here. And I assure you, you won't want to be in my shoes when that happens. Believe me, this is not a decision that anyone has made lightly.

'Now, in the meantime, there are some practical measures that need addressing.' She raised the slate. 'I will be issuing several supplementary ordinances. There is an edict placing all means of transportation into Imperial ownership. We will work through the existing management and staffing structures, but please be aware the Emperor expects full co-operation-'

Someone in the audience stood up. It was a man. He was dressed in the manner of a wealthy businessman, all gilded robes and elegant fabrics. He had a slate tucked under one arm. He was also, Alaster noted, prematurely bald.

'My Lady Inquisitor,' he said formally, 'you're proposing the destruction of the transportation sector. Not only that, you're also proposing the expropriation of its assets. The industry-'

'The industry, Mr Galbalen, will co-operate,' Lady Sharrow said firmly. 'And you can hardly claim to be an unbiased commentator, given that you own half the monorails on the continent.'

'Sit down and shut up,' Kodos repeated, glaring at Galbalen. He brandished his pistol. The vein-light played over his face. His artificial eye glittered.

To Alaster's surprise, the industrialist just started calmly back at the Space Marine. In spite of himself, Alaster had to acknowledge an amount of bravery there. This Mr Galbalen might be many things, but it seemed he wasn't a coward.

Galbalen spoke again. 'Given that you've placed my world under a death sentence, your ladyship, that gun hardly concerns me. As I was going to say, the industry has many concerns. We can hardly be expected to _welcome_ the destruction of our livelihood, can we? The minimum we must demand is suitable recompense.'

To Alaster's disbelief, Lady Sharrow laughed. She sounded genuinely amused! 'I'll say one thing for you, Mr Morgan Argastes Galbalen – you clearly have balls of steel! Demanding compensation off of the _Inquisition_ … I'm not sure whether I should have you shot or offer you a job!' Then her voice hardened. 'As it happened, I suspected you might cause trouble.'

Mr Galbalen frowned. 'Whatever can you mean by that?'

'So I made some arrangements this morning. You have communications, I'm sure. Call your wife.'

'What?' For the first time since the confrontation had begun, Mr Galbalen looked worried.

'Call your wife,' Lady Sharrow repeated, looking frosty.

Galbalen produced a device from somewhere under his sumptuous robes. He tapped a button. He raised it to his face. 'Darling?' he said. 'Are you all right?'

Then he was silent for a moment. Alaster could hear a faint, panicky squeal coming from the phone. He couldn't quite pick out the words, but Galbalen's face paled.

The hand with the phone sagged down. His face was white. He stared at Lady Sharrow. 'You – you bitch!' he snarled.

Lady Sharrow merely nodded. 'Yes. I suppose so. But there is good news, Mr Galbalen – lots of good news!'

'Really?' he asked.

'Your wife is probably feeling rather shaken up. I doubt she's very happy right now. She's probably still in shock – but she hasn't been physically-harmed. And do you know what? This happy situation – it can continue!' Lady Sharrow smiled brightly. 'Nothing bad has to happen to her! And if you behave, in fifty-five days' time, you can be re-united with her!

'Now, frankly, I doubt you're too concerned about _that_. But what you will be concerned about is the Legendre finance family – the one you married into! Your legal claim on a share of their fortune, of course, comes through Lucretia Amelia Caliisian Legendre-Galbalen – your wife! The very lady whom I've unfortunately had to have detained. And I'm led to understand that her father detests you – loathes the very sight of you! He only let her marry you because he wanted an angle on the Minorian transport sector. If his beautiful daughter came to any harm, _due to you_, well, I could imagine the Legendres challenging the deeds in the courts. And once Minoris burns – which I'm sorry, but it will – those deeds will be your sole source of income! And Papa Legendre can _definitely_ afford a better lawyer than you. Also, if you chose not to do your patriotic duty and aid the Imperium in its hour of need … well, what would happen if the Inquisition witnessed against you? That would hardly help your court case, would it? And oh, what do I have also stored on this slate?' She feigned surprise, glancing at it. 'Why, it appears to be a draft witness statement! All it needs is a name and a signature.'

Galbalen's jaw was set. He was grinding his teeth. He was also shaking. But he remained silent.

Lady Sharrow smiled brightly. 'You can sit down now, Mr Galbalen. I'm glad that we've obtained your co-operation.' She surveyed the room. 'I'm sure it hasn't escaped anyone's attention that arrangements have been made. Efficiency and speed are critical to this endeavour. Mr Galbalen is not the only possible difficulty for whom I have taken measures.

'Ladies and gentlemen, please remember. I know this is a dark and difficult day, and tempers are running thin. Believe me, I understand. But we are the Inquisition.' She banged her fist on the lectern. 'And we know where you live.'


	41. Chapter 41 A Major Excursion

'So we're going to Majoris,' Kodos said. 'Why?'

The Inquisitor nodded. The Thunderhawk's engines were loud, even inside this cabin. The vibration thrummed through the decking beneath them. 'We need the co-operation of the Majorian government,' she said, 'but certain members of the Board are likely to cause trouble. Unfortunately, I don't have any people on Majoris, so I can't do something like what I did with Galbalen.'

Kodos nodded. 'It was good to see someone take that fool down.'

It was the morning after Lady Sharrow's announcement. The evacuation plan was rolling into place already. Albatross and the other big cities on Minoris were under curfew and full lock-down. As the news spread, trouble was only to be expected. There had already been reports of riots in some outlying areas. Some shops had been broken into and some people were looting goods. As the Thunderhawk has lifted into the sky, the view from its cockpit had included a few columns of dark smoke, wafting lazily into the air above Albatross.

'Why does this need Space Marines?' Kodos asked.

'It's a difficult operation and you are the best,' she replied.

Kodos sighed. 'Yes, that's true – but blatant flattery aside, why us?'

Lady Sharrow looked cynical. She reached into her robe and removed the flask. The overhead strip lights gleamed on the polished metal. She tumbed the cap and took a quick sip. A scent of alcohol wafted through the Spartan passenger compartment. 'Want some?' she asked Kodos, holding out the flask. He shook his head. She screwed the cap back on and put it away. Straightening her robe, she said, 'Violence. And fear. Not to be too blunt about it, right now I need people seriously scared of me. You saw the state the city was in, on the way up. The situation could boil over at a moment's notice. There's nothing like impending planetary destruction to concentrate minds. People who would've stayed at home will take to the streets now. They've nothing to lose and maybe – just maybe! – everything to gain. This is the problem with Exterminatus – it's the ultimate blunt instrument.'

'And the fear?' Kodos asked.

Lady Sharrow reached out a hand. On the bare metal bench she was sat on, next to her there was a slate. She picked it up and thumbed it on. It revealed a hologram of a man's head and shoulders. 'This is the Vice-President for Payments, Disbursements and Financial Affairs,' she said. 'Alexandris deCopelberg the Fourth. The deCopelberg family has held the Vice-Presidency for three generations, and he wants to hand it onto his son.'

'What's stopping him?' Kodos asked, sounding bored.

'Politics,' Lady Sharrow replied. 'It takes three sequential, weekly votes at the Annual General Meeting to get someone confirmed onto the Board. The Corporate State has a bureaucratic streak. Anyway, deCopelberg's son got through vote one just fine, but something bad happened before vote two. Turned out he'd been caught on camera with a prostitute. The tabloids ran it all over the net, and the Church came out screaming. They've been feeling a bit sidelined in Corporate decisions recently. They don't like that. There's nothing that annoys them more then being ignored. And a chance to humiliate one of the Majorian Board? Not to be missed. You can guess what the sermons were like – three days of fire and brimstone about moral turpitude in the halls of power.'

Kodos pulled a face. 'Well it sounds like they were right.'

She nodded. 'Oh yes. By any reasonable standard, upper management at the Majoris Planetary Development Corporation are a bunch of scoundrels. Dodgy deals, bribery, drugs, affairs, links to organised crime, a corpse in every closet – your fairly typical corporate state.'

'That bad? How does the Administratum tolerate them?'

'Simple, the planet pays most of its taxes,' Lady Sharrow replied.

'Most?'

'Almost all worlds in this sector are serial evaders,' she replied. 'They only bother investigating if they get below seven tenths what they should. And Majoris has regularly coughed up more then seventy-five percent of what it should, ever since the coup two centuries ago. Before that, the Communalists rarely managed more then seventy-one. And don't ask about the monarchy before them.'

'I won't. It sounds like a skakking mess.'

'If you want to be optimistic, it's progress of a sort.'

'But where does deCopelberg come into this?'

'Well, vote two happened after three days of pulpit denunciation. The Coporation can censor the print media, of course, but it doesn't dare touch the Church. And they were preaching to every congregation on the planet. Needless to say, all the Shareholders teleconferencing into the Meeting that day knew exactly what deCopelberg junior had been up to.'

'Fornication, from the sounds of it.'

'Oh yes. Anway, he did technically win the second vote. But he did it by the smallest margin in maybe fifty years. Three votes, in fact.'

'Three?' Kodos blinked. 'Out of?'

'Four billion, eleven million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, three hundred and sixty-two,' she replied, without glancing at the slate. 'And that in of itself was news. For Board elections, there's usually only about half a billion or so Shareholders who bother to vote. Historically they've almost always been foregone conclusions. It's rare enough for one to be contested – let alone a near-defeat!'

'So actually, this is pretty humiliating for Daddy deCopelberg?'

'Oh yes. He's not happy at all, so I gather. And his son's opponent – well, the Church have been giving him money, would you believe? And pushing his candidacy at the pulpits. They even paid for an opinion poll. And guess what? It looks like the challenger could actually win this time.'

'That's unusual, then?' Kodos asked.

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'It would be only the second time in seventy years that someone outside of the usual families got onto the Board. The poll is currently fifty-two, forty-eight, outsider versus deCopelberg. Anyway, point is the family patriarch is feeling the pressure at the moment. If he puts a foot out of line, he could be the last deCopelberg on the Board. Changes are rare in the Development Corporation, but if a Board family should fall?' She shrugged. 'Then the knives come out. They don't do second chances down there.

'Anyway, point is, deCopelberg Elder isn't going to risk doing anything that might annoy the Majorian public. Normally this isn't a problem, but then normally Board contests aren't a problem either. He's in uncharted water and he's probably got no real idea what to do next. Given his character, he stick to something safely-populist.'

'Such as?'

'Such as not spending any public money on those good-for-nothing, handout seeking, unwelcome immigrants from the planet next door,' she said. 'And by standing up to an Inquisitor – even if he has to publicly give in later – he can still try and make himself look tough. The public love that sort of thing. Maybe some of it might reflect onto his son.'

'Ah. I think I begin to see. So he could … complicate the evacuation?'

'Frankly, he's in a position to sabotage the whole thing. My bargaining position is fairly weak. As long as the Shadow in the Warp keeps the system isolated, well, it gives me trouble threatening anyone with the wider Imperium, doesn't it? Also, the operation only goes ahead as long as I can hold the Fleet. If Majoris can openly defy me and get away with it, there's a chance the Fleet might follow.'

'You think treason is likely?'

'Not likely, no. But no-one – no-one! – likes Exterminatus. Crews have mutinied before. There is some precedent. And I'm supposed to be in charge here, and the situation's gone badly wrong.' She shrugged. 'Leaders are meant to be strong. That's the Imperial way. A weakling is no leader at all. If I'm perceived as weak? Some might not see defying a weak leader as treason.'

'And this operation?'

'If deCopelberg is butchered in a suitably violent manner,' she said, 'it will put the fear of the Emperor back into the Development Corporation. It will also get a troublemaker off of the Board and out of my way. Whoever follows him, whether it is his son, or someone else, well, they'll know not to cause trouble. And if the Fleet sees me commanding the loyalty of the Astartes, then they'll tread more carefully around me.'

'You're sure he's a troublemaker?'

She tapped another key on the slate. There was a crackle as the speakers came to life. A man was speaking. He had a deep, authoritative voice, carefully-schooled.

_'…And they mustn't look to us for salvation. They should manage their own affairs. Every world is responsible for itself. We have been the soul of generosity in the past. We've supported our poorer neighbour for centuries. We owe them nothing. All they've ever done is send us their younger sons, to house, feed and find jobs for. And we have, for years. We've been a kind neighbour. We've been a responsible neighbour. We've been a _good_ neighbour. But I say again, it's time they managed their own affairs. The people of Majoris owe the Minors nothing. We are not beholden to them…'_

She tapped the key. The speakers died. 'That was a public speech he gave a few weeks ago,' she explained. 'It doesn't leave much room for interpretation.'

Kodos nodded. 'Sounds like there's resentment between the planets.'

'Yes. Majoris has been soaking up Minoris's excess population for the last few centuries. Salaries are higher, so the talented keep leaving for it. It's partly why Minoris is such a mess – the capable just go. But many Majorians think "the Minors" keep taking their jobs.'

'And the Minors?'

'They see all the annoying corporate executives with second homes on Minoris, pushing the locals out of the market. Oh yes, there's internal squabbles around here. deCopelberg's been trying to channel that, while he tries to get his son onto the Board. Talking tough, he calls it.'

'So much for common humanity.'

'Yes. And that's why I need him out of the way.'

'So we're a political tool now?' Kodos asked.

'Basically – yes. Sorry. But for what it's worth, Brother-Sergeant, it will help us save something from this mess. Don't think this is for me. It's for the people of Riothria.'

'All right,' Kodos said. 'I'm sold. We have a mission. So what are details?'

Lady Sharrow tapped a couple more keys on the slate. The picture flickered and vanished. A wireframe animation of the solar system blossomed above the plate. It was reflected faintly on the slate's glossy screen.

'Board members,' she said, 'are normally well-guarded. But just this once, deCopelberg will be vulnerable.'

'Why?' Kodos asked.

She pointed at the animation. 'Because of this.' She tapped another key and textures flickered into place. In the centre were the two suns, one slightly smaller and slightly yellower than the other. Animated flares and spots roiled over their surfaces and a ghostly corona streamed out from both, magnetic field lines tangling around the paired stars in a complex mess. Further out were two blue-green-white planets, one bigger and more blue-white, the other smaller and more blue-green. The paired stars and paired planets were both revolving around their common centres of mass, and the two systems were both in turn revolving around each other. (From a distance, of course, it just looked like the planetary binary simply orbited the stellar one, the mass of the two planets being all but neglible compared to that of the two stars.)

And as they silently glided around each other, the bodies were lining up.

The smaller star was sliding in front of the brighter one. And, some distance to the side, the smaller planet was moving in front of the bigger one. A simulated shadow began to darken the larger planet. An arc of black bit into the top of the northern hemisphere.

'Grand Eclipse,' Lady Sharrow said. 'Lesser eclipses are fairly common, one planet clipping one of the stars, that sort of thing, or one star covering the other. But at nine thirty-one AM tomorrow, Majorian Standard Time, the eclipse begins. It will get dark, and stay dark for fifteen minutes and thirty-six seconds.'

'That precise?'

'I'm led to understand these things run like clockwork. And it's a Grand Eclipse – it'll be as dark as you get.'

'Surely dark is dark?'

'Actually no. Both planets have atmospheres – they lens some light, I'm led to understand, so it never gets completely black. And when the brighter sun eclipses the fainter one-' Lady Sharrow pointed to the stars in turn in the animation '- then there's more light to get lensed. Apparently it does make a visible difference. This time the fainter one is blocking the brighter.'

'And these Grand Eclipses are rare?'

'Enough to be a major tourist event, yes. I don't have the numbers to hand, but I think I heard someone say there's one every forty years, on average. Getting them all lined up so that everything's neatly-placed … doesn't happen very often!'

'Where does deCopelberg come into this?' Kodos asked.

'He's been invited to Caparis – one of the polar cities. The deCaparii hold the Vice-Presidency for Environmental Affairs. There've been rifts between them and Payments recently. Environment tried to do its job, basically. In the past Payments could just ignore them – they're only there for PR. But at the moment? deCopelberg doesn't dare annoy any possible supporters. For her part, Marissa deCaparis wants to get back onto the inside track on the Board. They both have things to gain, and the Eclipse gives them a public excuse for a quiet meeting. Rumour has it they'll watch the Eclipse from the sun terrace at the Polar Hotel. Then deCaparis will invite deCopelberg back to the bar, for a quick drink.' Lady Sharrow smiled in a cool way. 'The only thing they'll be drinking up is each other's influence, I suspect.

'Anyway, point is, he'll be on the sun terrace at the Polar Hotel at nine thirty. It looks out over the beach. There's only so secure an open place can be.'

Kodos frowned. 'Hang on – a sun terrace? At the pole?'

'More the seventy-ninth parallel,' she replied. 'There's not actually any land right at the pole itself.'

'A sun terrace?' Kodos repeated. 'Do they shovel the snow off before they sunbathe, then?'

Lady Sharrow looked confused for just a moment. Then a penny appeared to drop. 'You haven't read up on Majoris, have you?'

Kodos gave her an odd look. 'Why would I? It hasn't had much tactical relevance.'

Lady Sharrow nodded and smiled, more genuinely this time. 'Well maybe you should have, Brother-Sergeant. The Polar Hotel is in the polar circle, but the average temperature in Caparis at this time of year is thirty-two degrees. It's not cold.'

Kodos stared. 'What?'

Lady Sharrow reached out to the slate again. More keys were tapped. The holographic orrerry vanished. It was replaced by the disk of a single planet, half lit and half night. The day side was blue, with a thick, fat belt of cloud entirely encircling its equator. Massive storms swirled along the edge of the cloud belt. The dark side of the planet was punctuated by the light of huge hive cities, none of them visible in the tropics. The polar circles were a riot of light, remarkably dense with urban areas. On the day side, there was not a hint of polar ice. The planet-image had an odd sense of frenetic energy about it, all light and movement. Like a world on the boil.

'Majoris,' she said. 'Population two hundred and fifty-four billion. Average income seventy percent above galactic median, and per capita energy consumption two hundred and sixty percent above median. A big economy. Los of manufacturing. Ships taking off day and night. The place pumps out waste heat by the gigawatt. And they've got the climate to show for it. This is what it looked like two hundred years ago.'

She hit another key. The holographic globe flickered and changed. There was much less cloud. Small white polar caps glinted at either poles. The fat girdle of cloud near the equator was gone. Cities could be seen on the nightside, but they were smaller, much smaller. It looked all together more placid, calm and quiet. 'This,' Lady Sharrow said, 'was just before the Corporate coup. The Development Corporation – well, they've done exactly what they said they would. Develop the economy. Problem is, they're greedy. Maybe they've developed it too much.'

Her finger tapped the key. The stormy, cloud-swirled ball came back.

'The lights you see,' she said. 'They're the cooling vanes, for the hive cities. The cities have to be insulated, refrigerated. The vanes are built out of the same stuff they make space elevators from. They reach up out of the stratosphere, where they can radiate heat straight into space. They run them at night, flaring off megawatt after megawatt. All to stop the cities roasting.'

Kodos stared. 'You can see them from Minoris.'

'Yes. With the naked eye. They're bright. Point is, the place is a mess. If the situation wasn't dire, they wouldn't even _have_ an Environment Department. Another century and who knows? I suspect the planet will have to be abandoned. Or we'll have to go down the mega-engineering route, you know, do what the Ancients did at Venus. Fill the sky with mirrors, that sort of thing.'

Kodos was staring at the hologram. 'How hot?' he asked.

'At the equator?' She poked a finger into the hologram and spun it around. As it turned, a big, round swirl was revealed, bulging out through the equatorial cloud belt. It was a vast whirl of cloud, thousands of miles across. It had a distinct spiral structure. It looked a bit like the sort of storm you'd expect on a gas giant, not a solid world. 'See this? This is the Storm.'

'_The_ Storm? Like the way we say _the_ Emperor?'

'Oh yes. It rates the definite article. If you live down there, you don't have to ask which. The, not a. It's sat on top of the hottest place on the planet. The Steaming Sea.'

'The Steaming Sea. Another "the", then?'

'Oh yes. It used to be the Gulf of Khambrai, a tourist resort that pulled visitors in from across the sector. But then the climate started changing. First the tourists left. Then the locals did. Then the vegetation along the shorelines died. And about thirty years ago, the Gulf finally came to a boil.'

'It's _boiling_?'

She nodded. 'Oh yes. At first it was just a seasonal thing. It would bubble a bit on the hottest days of the year. But by twenty years ago, it ws bubbling all year long. And it keeps spreading. It's area's doubled in the last five years. A nice, rolling boil.'

'Skak.'

'Quite. They've completely abandoned the tropical belts. No-one lives there anymore. There are a few refrigerated monorail lines that run through it. But most people travel suborbital – go _up_ and _over_ the Storm, not through it. Runaway greenhouses cause such trouble for civil infrastructure, you know.'

'And the poles?' Kodos asked.

'The last place with open cities,' she said. 'The average temperatures are still below forty degrees in the polar circles. They don't have to refrigerate up there. Yet, anyway.' She pointed at the brightly-lit polar circles on the hologram. 'That's why they're so well-populated. On the other hand, of course, you can rent a big apartment near the equator for what would get you a small room near the poles.'

'So could that be another reason why deCopelberg's in Caparis? A property deal on the side too?'

'Good thinking, but it doesn't wash,' she sighed. 'Don't forget, his family basically own Copelberg itself. That city is on the eighty-third parallel in the south circle, so even more polar. And Copelberg's on a two-thousand metre plateau, as well, so it has altitude on its side. Copelberg will be one of the last cities to roast down there. It'll hang on long after Caparis.'

'Skak,' Kodos repeated himself. 'What a mess.'

'Yes,' she agreed.

'And this Environment Department – what are they doing?'

'Not much. The Board gives them a budget less than one hundredth of the second-smallest Vice-Presidency. They're function is so that the Corporation can claim to be doing something about environmental issues. And technically, they are. Just not anything effective.'

'Just a thought. Evacuating Minoris to Majoris…'

'There are a lot of empty apartments in the mid-lattitude hives.'

'Yes, I thought there might be.'

'They are humanly-inhabitable, Brother-Sergeant. The cooling systems hold the hive temperatures down to below twenty-five degrees. And it's better then leaving them all to die on Minoris.'

'Yes – but won't adding more people just make this situation worse?'

She sighed. 'You mean, everyone dies in a century's time? If the choice is that or have everyone die tomorrow – then yes, I'll go for the century option. And I'll sleep just fine afterwards.'

'So all we're doing is delaying the inevitable?'

She looked straight into his eyes. The Thunderhawk rumbled in the background. The holographic planet spun gently onwards, vast storms swirling and colliding. The air vents whirred in the background. She said, 'Do we, any of us, ever do anything else? There are days when I wonder, Brother-Sergeant. I really do.'

She looked down. She reached into her robe and pulled out the flask. She pulled the cap off. Light gleamed on the metal. She sipped it, the astringent smell drifting out again.

'Should you be drinking that, before an operation?' Kodos asked.

'It'll be fine,' she said. She clicked the cap back on and put the bottle away. 'There's time yet, and I haven't had much.'

'So,' Kodos said, 'this begs the question. What is the plan?'

'We can't teleport in,' she replied. 'We're going in by Thunderhawk.'

'Why?' Kodos asked bluntly.

'Two reasons. One, the Polar Hotel is a new building and I don't have a floor plan. Wouldn't do to put us down in a wall, would it? And two, getting the parking orbit right to teleport down from … well, that might give time for people to twig that something's up. This operation needs to be fast and brutal. I'd say drop pods, but I need to be there.' She patted her robe. 'There'll be cameras, and I've got an edict to read them. If people don't realise a public execution is an execution, it'll just look like murder. And the only way we can do all of this is via Thunderhawk.'

'Competing objectives,' Kodos remarked sourly. 'That's the problem with political ops. Are we killing him, or making a scene?'

'Neither,' she said. 'We're upholding Imperial authority and supporting the rule of the Emperor. deCopelberg might not believe himself to be defying the Emperor's will, but he is. He needs stopping.'

'Yes, okay,' Kodos said. 'Moving back to the practicalities … this beach you mentioned? Is it big?'

She nodded. 'That's the plan. Drop the Thunderhawk on the beach during totality, jump out, shoot deCopelberg, read my script and go. Nice and tidy.'

'How do we get there? An Astartes Thunderhawk is going to raise some eyebrows. And I'm assuming we aren't stopping for traffic control.'

She nodded. 'I mentioned the Storm, didn't I?'

'Oh no.'

'Sorry. But yes. Civil aircraft avoid it. Electrical storms and turbulence play havoc with long-range scans. If we skim the top of it, they won't be able to tell where we're going. And we can use the out-winds to give us an extra kick toward the pole.'

'Civil aircraft can't cope. What about the PDF?'

'I doubt they can either. I've read the specs on their planes. They're good but hardly amazing. They're hardly up to Astartes standards.'

'This sounds marginal.'

'We won't be going deep into the Storm. As I said, just skimming the surface. And we'll have the cover of darkness, during the Grand Eclipse itself.'

'So these are your orders?' Kodos asked.

'Yes, Brother-Sergeant, they are.'


	42. Chapter 42 A Windy Welcome

17/12/2008 The Misfits D. Murray

'By the Emperor,' Patreus breathed, 'that is ugly!'

He was staring through the cockpit's canopy. In front of them, indicator-lights gleamed amidst the mass of screens and switches that were the flight consoles. The two pilots were sat in their chairs in front of the watching squad, clicking switches and muttering incomprehensible flight jargon at each other. None of the brothers were paying that any attention, though. The cockpit was bathed in the silvery-blue glow of the approaching planet.

The Thunderhawk was on close approach to Majoris now. The planet filled half the view, its disk spilling well beyond the edges of the canopy. Its surface was mainly white, with two narrow blue bands pushed away to the edges of the view. They were overlooking a turbulent sea of cloud.

Prominently, in the middle of it, a fat ovoid extended up and below the main mass of cloud. It had a distinct spiral pattern, not unlike a vast whirlpool. The Storm. This tumescent oval of wind and rain and lightning was their destination. It looked like a bloated stab wound, bleeding hurricanes over the face of a mortally-wounded planet. The view was striking, but Alaster wasn't sure he could call is pretty. And the Storm itself was just ugly, a yawning maw of gales and downpours.

Alaster brandished the slate he was holding. 'It says it's a hundred degrees under that cloud,' he said. 'It'd be hotter yet but there's still sea left to boil.'

'Skak,' Nasty said. 'How've they managed this so quick? Octalis's been okay for millennia.'

'Here too,' Alaster said. 'But there are pollution laws back home. Caps, taxes, that sort of thing. It's not tidy, but it does sort of work.'

Nasty looked cynical. 'You wouldn't believe it if you'd lived where I did. Rubbish in the streets, dirty water in the creeks. Blocked drains. Skak like that.' Nasty being himself, he showed no awareness that he'd just contradicted himself from moments before. Alaster felt it would be undiplomatic to point it out.

Patreus was still staring out the porthole. 'I think what Brother Alaster is saying,' he said, 'is that there are degrees of failure. And by any standard, this is truly epic. A testament to what happens when greed runs amok.' He shook his head. 'More evidence of the superiority of our own people, Brothers. Whatever other flaws Octalis might have, we haven't broken any of our planets.' It was apparent that he was shocked; Patreus was sermonising.

'Yet,' Nasty said cynically.

Alaster looked at the clock on the wall. T-minus ten minutes. 'We should strap in,' he said. 'We'll be in the atmosphere in a few minutes.'

Kodos, stood to the side, looked at them. 'Yes,' he said. 'You lot, get below. Alaster, Eorvan, stay up here. I need you on hand in case there's any changes of plan.'

'Yes Sergeant,' Patreus, Nasty and Fegust and Sandrer chorused.

The rest of the squad departed the cockpit, boots clanking on the metal decking underfoot. With the number of Space Marines in the room more than halved, it felt a lot bigger.

Behind the main pair of pilots' seats was a secondary rank, for any observers. There were five seats, arranged in a horseshoe formation. Four of them would be occupied today – Kodos, Alaster and Eorvan and Lady Sharrow.

Alaster settled himself into one of the seats. Once he was strapped in he slid his helmet down over his head, twisting it to lock it in place with the neck ring. It probably wasn't necessary, but it was standard procedure for a Thunderhawk landing. In one respect, spaceplanes were just like air planes – the times when things went wrong most often were takeoff and landing.

Once he had his helmet settled into place, Alaster checked on his weapons. His pistol was holstered at his belt, where he could grab it in a moment if necessary. He had his chainsword clipped onto the side of the chair next to him, angled down and back. It was positioned so that the grip was right next to the relevant hand. Again, he could grab it in one single, fast movement, if need be. An attack inside the Thunderhawk was, of course, unlikely in the extreme – but many men had lost their lives to unlikely events. Alaster had no immediate plans to join them.

Kodos and Eorvan were settling themselves into place on either side of him. Moments later, he heard bootheels on the decking. The sound was followed by Lady Sharrow ducking into the cockpit through the airlock at the back. She glanced at the window. 'Oh good. We're nearly there.'

Kodos's helmet nodded. 'Yes my Lady, we are. If you'd care to sit?' He gestured to the spare seat.

She nodded. 'Thank you, Brother-Sergeant.'

She sat down. There was a click as she pulled the harness into place. There was a quiet whirr of motors as the seat reconfigured itself for the somewhat-smaller frame of an unaltered human. The armrests and the back moved themselves into place. Lady Sharrow rested her arms on the sides. Then she scowled in a distracted way, reaching out for her robe. She looked for a moment like she was going to retrieve something from a pocket, but then she seemed to think better of it. She put her arm back down.

'Is something the matter, my Lady?' Kodos asked, in an oddly-neutral voice.

Alaster felt a sudden unease. Attempts at subtlety weren't like Kodos. Was something up? Behind and above him, the ventilator fan clanked and whirred in its housing. It sounded like it needed a tuning – it kept clanking on every third spin. A screw was loose somewhere, Alaster supposed.

Lady Sharrow looked briefly at Kodos, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she glanced back at the window and leaned back, placing her head on the headrest. 'No Brother-Sergeant, nothing's the matter.'

'Okay,' Kodos said. He spoke to the pilots. 'Take us down.'

'Acknowledged,' one of them said.

Through the decking beneath his boots, Alaster felt the rumble of thrusters.

The Thunderhawk's attitude began to change. The planet on the viewscreen shifted downwards. Its fat curve slimmed to a bright arc and then vanished below the edge of the window.

With the glare gone, the sky blossomed with stars. As always from the Riothrian System, the sky was weird. One half of it was thick with little points of light, some bright, some faint. The other half had only a few, the faintest sprinkling of small lights.

'The halo zone,' Eorvan remarked. 'As unholy as ever.'

'At least it's quiet in its abomination.' Kodos said. 'It doesn't bother us with its horrors.'

Lady Sharrow was gazing into the emptiness. 'Not really.' With the planet hidden, the cockpit was lit by the glow instruments and screens. It wasn't a strong light. Lady Sharrow's face was picked out in greens and reds. Alaster could see one of the readout-screens, reflected as a white glint in her eyes. 'Quiet, yes. But it's still there. And I don't doubt it watches us.'

'There's nothing there,' Kodos said. 'Just emptiness. They say the Astronomicon doesn't reach out there. What could anyone want in the halo?'

'There are secrets there,' Lady Sharrow said. 'Things that should stay buried.'

'Then they should be left well alone,' Kodos growled.

She shook her head. 'Problem is, some of them will dig themselves out. If those horrors absolutely must come to light, then by the Emperor let it be on a day of my choosing!'

'There are no horrors,' Eorvan said. 'There's nothing there!'

Irritation and something else quirked on Lady Sharrow's face. 'Not true, Brother-Corporal. There's definitely a city.'

'A city?' Kodos sounded dubious. 'Colonies don't go beyond the Astonomicon.'

'Oh, it's not one of ours,' she said. 'Kessilden reckoned it was ancient before we crawled from Terra's holy oceans.'

'Who was Kessilden?' Kodos said.

'Our resident mad Tech-Priest,' she said. 'It's his fault we ever had to go out there. If he'd just left that radio dish alone… Still, you don't know these things in advance, I suppose.'

'Some Tech-Priests,' Kodos said, 'meddle where they shouldn't, and hide behind their guild when they should be doing work.'

'Oh he was definitely a crazed heretic,' she agreed. 'That we were in no doubt about. But there was the odd trace of enlightenment mixed in with his delusions. He was right about the star – the one we went to. It was ancient, just this pathetic little blood-red ember. It took our ship a month to match velocities with it. They're fast out there! And there was only the one planet – that's where we found the city. Not a whiff of air, and colder than hell.'

'A city without air?' Kodos asked sceptically.

'It was quite dead – or at least, we thought it was. I'm not so sure now.'

'Surely you'd know?' Kodos said.

'No, no you wouldn't,' she replied. 'Really, you wouldn't. For a dead place, it notched up a respectable bodycount.' She looked through the canopy. 'I was just reminded of it by that view. The sky out there, in the halo – it's like that, but worse. There's nothing. The only things you can see are galaxies. Ours and others.'

'What does ours look like?' Alaster asked, impulsively.

'Not a lot,' she said. 'Just like a silvery fog, spread across the sky. It's not bright. A kind of ghost-spiral, with a slightly-brighter smudge in the middle. You can only see it because there's no competing lights. The other few are the same, except smaller, fainter. And there aren't many of them, either. The Spirals of Andromeda and Triangulum, and the two Seas of Magellan. And that's it. There's nothing else you can see out there, except the black. The deep black.' She shook her head. 'If I ever doubted the basic hostility of the universe, that place corrected me. It's cold and it's empty. It's not that it hates us – that I could handle. It doesn't hate. It doesn't _anything_. Hatred would imply that it knew us. It isn't aware of our existence. _It doesn't care_.' She shuddered, a wave of revulsion passing over her face. 'It mocks and it mocks our works with its emptiness. And it mocks us without even knowing it's doing it. If there ever was a truth that makes people mad, there it is.'

Then one of the pilots spoke. 'Re-entry angle attained. Beginning reverse thrust.' Alaster felt a clunk through the decking. Then the rumble of the thrusters changed pitch.

'And it looks like we're going down,' Lady Sharrow said. 'Time for me to shut up.'

Alaster looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed quiet and impassive, but he was disturbed by her monologue. It wasn't so much by what she'd said – he was well aware that the Galaxy was full of horrors. It was more that she'd said them at all. Lady Sharrow might be many things, but indiscreet wasn't one of them. Alaster remembered Kodos's questioning shortly before. Something was definitely up.

Alaster felt a stirring of disquiet.

'Beginning re-entry,' one of the pilots said. A switch was clicked. The sound echoed in the sudden quiet of the cockpit.

After that, things happened fast.

The Thunderhawk was beginning to feel the outer wisps of the Majorian atmosphere. Normally this would happen later in the descent but Majoris's atmosphere was slowly bloating up, expanding as the heating at the surface had its effect. The first breath of gas buffeted against the Thunderhawk's heat-resistant underside, creating a slight vibration that Alaster felt in the cockpit.

The air thickened quickly. The spaceplane was still at close to orbital velocity. It was entering into the atmosphere at a carefully-aimed angle, just enough to slow quickly but not such that they'd lose control in turbulence.

The air thickened. Now there was appreciable resistance. A shockwave was forming in front of the Thunderhawk. Friction heated it. The spaceplane was coming in fast – it was dumping a lot of energy into the air. Temperatures soared. The shockwave started to glow, a cherry-red flaring around the prow of the descending vehicle.

The vox crackled. 'Unidentified vehicle, this is Majoris Traffic Cotrol. Who are you? Over.'

'Don't answer,' Lady Sharrow said.

The vox crackled again. 'Unidentified vehicle, please answer. This is-' _crackle_ '-is Traffic Control-' _crackle_ '-repeat, please identify-' _crackle crackle_ '-selves.'

'Ionisation sheath building up,' one of the pilots reported. 'We're losing the vox.'

A cherry-red glow was spilling up over the bottom of the cockpit window. The vox crackled a couple more times. Alaster almost managed to catch a voice for a moment, but then it was gone. The vox crackled once again but then it fell silent.

'Ionisation sheath fully-formed,' the pilot said again. She reached out and flicked the vox switch off. 'May as well turn that off. No-one can talk to us for the next few minutes.'

Outside, and from a distance, the Thunderhawk now looked like an enormous meteor. The ablation shockwave had grown and blossomed into a trail of ionic fire, dozens of miles long. It stretched out behind the descending spaceplane like a fiery sword. And the air was steadily thickening. Beneath them, the planet's surface no longer looked curved. The planet now filled the sky, like a vast blue-white floor with a black ceiling above. Around the border of the two was a sharp beige band that quickly toned to black – the Majorian atmosphere.

The Thunderhawk ploughed deeper into that atmosphere. It streaked over a wind-whipped sea, glimpsed here and there through gaps in the thunderheads and hurricanes. The sky around it was brightening. First it became bluer, then its colour shifted again to a murky beige.

The Thunderhawk howled into Majoris's troposphere. An island streaked by below, glimpsed through the cloud. The land was a barren greyish-brown. It was the colour of bedrock, as if all the topsoil had washed away. As it streaked by there was no hint of vegetation.

The Thunderhawk was slowing now. The plume of ionisation was fading out as the speed dropped. There was no longer enough of a shockwave to smash air molecules apart or knock electrons from their shells. It hung on for a few more seconds, then it stuttered and died. The Thunderhawk was free of the trail of flame.

'Subsonic transition in t-minus five,' one of the pilots announced. 'Four. Three. Two. One. Now-'

The Thunderhawk dropped below the speed of sound.

There was a jolt. A howl of displaced outside air ripped through the cockpit. Before, it had been quiet – they'd been leaving the sound of their own passage behind. Now the deafening roar could keep pace with them. The Thunderhawk shook in its own tail wind.

Up ahead, through the canopy, Alaster could see a vast, lumpy whorl of dark greyish cloud. The Storm. It was rapidly expanding before them. Above it was a beige sky, toning to deep brown straight above.

'Storm insertion,' the first pilot reported, 'in thirty seconds. Brace yourselves, people, this looks rough!'

'Windspeed?' Kodos asked.

The pilot glanced down, then whistled in awed surprise. 'Four hundred and forty clicks per hour!'

Alaster glanced at the Inquisitor. He was careful not to turn his head, so she'd have no idea he was spying on her. Helmets – such useful things!

Lady Sharrow was staring straight ahead. She looked calm and impassive. Her hands were sat on the armrests.

The Thunderhawk jolted. Some item, not properly stowed, rattled on the decking behind them.

'Turbulence,' the other pilot said. 'There's going to be more chop before longer!'

The Thunderhawk jolted again.

The Storm was a swollen mass half-filling the canopy. There was a big rent in the cloud on one side, moving along even as Alaster watched. For a moment he saw deep into the inner workings of the greenhouse storm, just as a vast bolt of lightning strobed through the interior of the cloud. He gained a fleeting impression of a hellish, swirling mass of wind and cumulous.

The Thunderhawk jolted once, twice, three times. Then it stuttered from one side to the other. There was a clatter and a rattle from behind them. Alaster caught a glimpse of a stray mug, rolling across the floor. Where that had come from, he had no idea. Just as he was watching there was another jolt.

He looked up.

The Storm filled two thirds of the canopy. He could see the rent, open like a gaping mouth into hell. 'Entry in t-minus ten,' the first pilot said. She began to count down.

Alaster's hands tightened on the rests. He breathed deeply inside his helmet. The familiar faint rubber and metal smell filled his enhanced nostrils. A quick glance down reassured him that his harness was correctly fastened.

'Five,' he heard the pilot say as he tuned back in. He couldn't see anything except the Storm now, but something about the light showed they were still outside. 'Four.' Another jolt rattled the spaceplane. 'Three.' Another bolt of lightning briefly lit the interior of the Storm. 'Three.' He breathed again, hearing the sound inside his helmet. 'Two.' The fan _whir-clunk_ed behind him. 'One.' He tensed-

'Zero.'

And then it had them.

They flew straight into the rent he had glimpsed moments before. An enormous wind caught the Thunderhawk. It jerked to the side. The thrusters roared, struggling to be heard over the deafening howl. The wind batted them to one side.

Alaster was slammed against his harness. He grunted at the impact, but no-one heard it over the growl of the wind. Even in the cockpit it was deafening.

The wind changed. With a jolt, the Thunderhawk was tipped the other way. Alaster gripped the armrests.

Then a gust slammed them from beneath. They were hurled upwards. Alaster felt his stomach flip-flop. The canopy view spun up. He was staring up into a grey and turbulent vortex of enraged cloud.

'Stabilising!' one of the pilots shouted, struggling to be heard over the wind.

The canopy tilted downwards again.

Another gust smacked into them. Everything went mad.

The view spun crazily. Alaster felt his stomach and his inner ear whirling around. He swallowed back on the nausea, clenching down on it. The cockpit was filled with the panicky screaming of various alarms. Alert klaxons blared and red lights flashed across the control boards.

'We're spinning! We're spinning!' one of the pilots shouted. Alaster saw them, being swung back and forth against their harnesses like rag dolls.

Another gust body-blew them, and the Thunderhawk flipped clean over. The pilots' hair briefly hung down as they were upside down. Alaster felt his entire weight settle on the harness. It creaked.

'Altitude!' one of the pilots shouted hoarsely. 'We're losing altitude!'

The loose mug fell past Alaster. He heard it crack as it hit the ceiling. Only the ceiling was now the floor!

Except it wasn't. He felt the Thunderhawk turn up and twist. Down swung out through his chest. Suddenly down was directly in front.

He looked out of the canopy. The Thunderhawk was pointing exactly downwards, just for a moment. He was looking through a deep whirlpool of furious cloud, as if someone had pulled the plug on the world and the atmosphere was draining out. And for a moment there, he glimpsed it. Right at the bottom, a weirdly regular landscape of vast, bursting bubbles and superheated mists. Black, brackish water. A tortured ocean of dying, boiling liquid. The death of a world, spread out below them.

The Steaming Sea. And it was expanding even as he watched. They were falling toward the Steaming Sea-

One of the pilots reached out and flipped a string of switches. The growling of the engines redoubled. The thrum resonated up through Alaster's chair.

Then they were spinning upright again. The Thunderhawk was fighting up from its dive.

Fragments of mug rained past. They plinked and clanked onto the decking.

The Steaming Sea vanished out of sight below the canopy. The Thunderhawk clawed its way back to a level flight. The engines rumbled loudly.

'Go up,' the first pilot croaked. 'See if we can get above some of the turbulence.'

'Punching the thrusters,' the second one said. 'Let's get out of this skak!'

The engines roared. They surged forward. Alaster was pushed back against his chair. Cloud streamed past them. For a moment the sky was rent by a sea of lightning. The Thunderhawk jolted as the thunder-wave rolled over them.

Then suddenly the streamers of mist parted. They surged out into the beige.

All around them were towers and battlements of cloud. It was as if the Storm was some monstrous fortress, and they were running a strafing run just above its turrets. The turbulence faded and the engines quietened to a more gentle rumble.

'Well,' one of the pilots said weakly, 'that was fun.'

A chunk of the smashed mug rolled against Alaster's boot. He glanced down as it plinked quietly against his foot.

'What happened?' Kodos asked.

'Our nav-data,' the pilot said. 'It said the bastard-serious winds started at sixteen clicks' altitude. Sixteen point five should've been fine. Cloud for cover, but no serious skak. Thing is, we just slammed into the bad winds at seventeen point eight. That's why it all went a bit mad for a bit then. We're running at eighteen point three clicks up now, and it's calm as a bell out there.'

Kodos's helmet nodded. 'Okay. Seems the Storm must've got worse since they did the meteorology survey, I guess. It's a deviation from the plan, but let's try not to go back in there.'

'Yes my lord,' the first pilot said. She sounded relieved.

'Are you sure that's wise?' Lady Sharrow asked.

Kodos sighed. 'My Lady. We can't accomplish the mission if we die on the way, can we?'

She nodded thoughtfully. 'I suppose not. Good point, Brother-Sergeant. However we'd probably better put the vox back on. If we're above the cloud, Traffic Con's satellites can see us.'

One of the pilots clicked the vox backed on.

The cockpit was filled with the voice of a screeching bureaucrat.

'…unidentified vehicle, you are in Category One breach! Repeat, you are in breach! Acknowledge, damn you! Acknowledge or we will intercept! Repeat, you are in…'

Lady Sharrow sighed. 'Okay, turn that down. I think we get the idea.'

The first pilot dialled down the volume knob. The angry voice quietened. 'Should we respond, your ladyship?'

Lady Sharrow shook her head. 'No. And for the record, I speak for the Inquisition and I declare that we are in breach of _nothing_.' Then, to Alaster's disbelief, she smiled! 'Take that, traffic cops!'

'So we're going to get pursued,' Kodos remarked.

'Probably,' she agreed, 'but not for a while. Local craft don't go anywhere near the Storm, like I said. And anyway, I'm sure a Thunderhawk can handle some silly cop-skimmer.'

Alaster voxed Kodos on the private channel. 'Sergeant, this kind of isn't going too well, is it?'

'Watch your mouth,' Kodos growled, and clicked the channel off. Worryingly, though, Alaster noted that Kodos hadn't actually disagreed with him.

They flew on over the cloud. Some time passed. Alaster caught a brief glimpse of the two suns overhead. He noticed that their edges appeared to be brushing. It seemed that the two stars were on course for their afternoon appointment. He strained his eyes but he couldn't spot the dark disk of Minoris against the sky. It had to be somewhere near the suns, though.

They were flying above a dense, complicated whirl of dark cloud when something on the instrument board started pinging.

'What's that?' Kodos asked.

The first pilot consulted a screen. 'We're being pursued,' she said.

'There's a surprise,' Kodos sighed.

'Can we see it?' Lady Sharrow asked.

The pilot punched a couple of keys. A holoscreen flicked into life. It was a view from one of the rear cameras. There was definitely something there, a glint of light that kept pace behind them. 'I'll up the magnification,' she said. She turned a dial.

The view zoomed in. There was now a small but recognisable plane-shape, light glinting on its wings and fuselage. A dark patch might have been a canopy. Other then that, details were still hard to distinguish on the small shape. 'That's the best we can do,' the pilot apologised.

'Any idea what it is?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'Probably just a local plane,' the pilot said. 'They're not gaining on us.'

Lady Sharrow frowned. 'So they're just following – nothing else?'

'That's it. Just following.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Okay. Let me know if it changes.'

They flew on.

A short while later, something else started pinging. The pilot looked closely at a screen. 'We've got another one,' she announced. She pulled up the holoscreen again. This time there were two glints, separated by about sixty degrees.

'Keep going for now,' Lady Sharrow instructed.

'Wait,' the first pilot said, 'they're accelerating.'

'Towards us?' Kodos asked.

She nodded, looking nervous.

'Let them make the first move,' Kodos said. 'Stay on this course and speed.'

It took a couple of minutes for the aircraft to catch up. When they did, Alaster finally got a clear look at them via the side-cameras. They were two little intra-atmospheric fighter craft. They looked tiny next to the Thunderhawk. They pulled up on either side of the spaceplane. On close-up, Alaster noted that one of the pilots kept gesticulating in their direction, like he wanted something.

'Ignore him,' Lady Sharrow reaffirmed.

A few minutes later and it seemed their patience was running down. Alaster heard a faint rattle, like rain on the fuselage.

'What was that?' Kodos asked.

'Small-calibre fire,' one of the pilots said. 'They shot at us!'

'Damage?' Lady Sharrow asked.

A screen was consulted. 'Non-existent. It just bounced off the plating.'

Lady Sharrow sighed. 'I was hoping they'd see this ship's insignia and realise this is none of their business. Apparently no such luck. Okay, I guess we have to shoot back now.'

'Wait,' Kodos said. 'Are you open to a suggestion?'

'Which would be?'

'Well, the pilots are probably just following their orders. They haven't actually done anything to deserve being killed … it's not like they actually hurt us, is it? And they might make themselves useful to the Emperor some day in the future. So instead of shooting them down, let's run their noses in it.'

'How?' Lady Sharrow asked.

Kodos looked to the pilots. 'Punch the engines. Leave the skakkers in the dirt!'

The first pilot was all smiles. 'With pleasure, my Lord! They can't catch us!'

The Thunderhawk's engines roared into sudden life. Alaster was pushed back into the padding of his seat. The spaceplane surged forwards.

A crenellation of puffy cloud exploded into startled fragmentation, blasted apart by their wake. Alaster watched as the two small planes frantically scattered, trying not to be caught up in the backwash.

Cloud streamed by below them. The two little planes were quickly lost into the distance. Within minutes they had vanished below the horizon.

'Let them intercept that!' Kodos said, sounding smug.

'How are we doing for time?' Lady Sharrow asked.

Kodos consulted a clock. 'We're still okay, but we need to keep moving,' he said. 'At this rate we should get there just as totality starts. The actual eclipse will begin in half an hour or so.'

Alaster got another glimpse of the suns. One of them was definitely partly occluded by the other now. So far it was just a sliver off the edge, but the progress was visible. There was still no sign of Minoris.

'We don't get this back home,' he said, suddenly.

'The Moon's too far out,' Kodos said. 'And it's orbit is inclined. And Octalis looks bigger in our skies. But you do get annular eclipses, sometimes.'

'I've never seen one,' Alaster said.

'They don't happen very often,' Kodos replied. 'There was one when I was a boy, though.'

Alaster boggled. The thought of a young Kodos … how long ago must that have been?

'It wasn't impressive,' Kodos added. 'It didn't even get particularly dark. Only like there was a cloud in the way or something. Although it did make the sun look like a big orange donut, which was kind of pretty.' He sounded dismissive. 'Delta's not a good world for eclipses. At least this one should be worth seeing.'

'They used to worship them on Terra,' Lady Sharrow said suddenly. 'The Pagans, I mean. Thousands of years ago. There were cults who figured out the timing sequences … they used it to scare the peasants into line. Tithe us your food or we make the sun go away.'

Underneath his armour, Alaster shivered. It didn't do to think too closely about the foul activities of the Pagan Ancients. Thank goodness he had the great fortune to live in the holy enlightenment of the Imperial era!

'The Ancients,' Kodos said, 'did all sorts of weird things.'

The fan _whir-clunk_ed, again. Alaster gritted his teeth. That thing was starting to get on his nerves. He felt like taking a screwdriver to it – or better yet, his chainsword.

'Looks like we're coming up on a hive,' Eorvan said. He pointed.

Alaster followed his finger. Near the horizon, a line rose up into the sky. At the bottom, sticking up through the cloud, was what looked like a sort of bent cone, the fat end sat somewhere on the ground below. The cone-line symmetry was ruined by various spiky protuberances, skyscrapers sprouting like mould.

'This far south?' Kodos sounded surprised. 'We were only in the Storm a little while ago.'

'Look closer,' Lady Sharrow said. 'See? No aircraft. It's abandoned. You're right – it is too close to the equator!'

As they approached it swelled before them. It quickly became apparent that Lady Sharrow was correct. The hive was obviously empty. Dead windows stared at them, few of them still housing their heat-resistant panes. The towers and highrises, previously government offices and the palaces of the wealthy, poked skyward like dead fingers. Alaster followed the cooling-strut upwards. It vanished up through a weak dusting of cirrus cloud, tailing off into the distant sky. Up toward its peak he could see a few filamentary protuberances, hanging out like damaged feathers. Cooling vanes, he realised. They looked like rotten black ferns, hanging out from a central stem. Most of them were retracted into the twenty-mile high strut, but some of them had clearly come loose.

He held out his thumb into his line of view, measuring out the size of one of the dead, frond-like vanes. Given that it was located somewhere near the top of a twenty-mile high strut … estimating the length inside his head, he whistled. 'They're clicks long!' he said. 'The wind should rip it down.'

'There isn't any wind up there,' Kodos said. 'It's too high.'

'They need the window area,' Lady Sharrow said. 'That's why the look fern-like. The structure is fractal, sort of.'

The dead hive was now closing with them. They'd pass the main strut, a few clicks to the left. Much of the base was somewhere below them. Alaster looked downwards. The hive erupted through the planet's nominal cloud layer, a kilometre or two below. Cloud swirled around the intrusion, creating a long turbulent shadow, one that hung back for miles. The hive, he realised, generated its own weather.

'This is one of the smaller ones,' Lady Sharrow remarked. 'In its heyday it probably had fewer than a billion residents.'

The structure was very close now. Alaster got a good look at it as they swept past. It looked grotty and weathered. Streaks of discolouration marred its surface and water-stains were everywhere. Alaster caught a glimpse of a waterfall, emerging from one of the upper windows. It plunged down toward the depths, splashing off the side of the cone. Somewhere down in a gap through the clouds he noticed a trail of steam, rising lazily in the air – presumably the very same waterfall, vaporising as it sank into the superheated air near the ground.

Then they were next to the decaying arcology. The vast structure towered alongside them. The strut dominated the sky. It swept past, ponderously and with an odd majesty, a kind of rotten glory. It might have seen better days, but the structure was a testament to the engineering that had gone into its creation. Alaster felt a sudden, and unexpected, swelling of pride at knowing that he was part of the same civilization that had built this thing!

The strut grazed the suns. Its shadow fell over them. For a moment, there was darkness as they flew through the shadow. Then they were out, back into the blazing sunshine. Clouds rolled below them, a lumpy greyish expanse. And, off to their side, the dead hive was falling back. It was bright-

Alaster frowned. Was it quite bright enough?

He glanced up, through the canopy. The selective polarisers had dialled down the disks of the two suns, so he could look reasonably safely. One of them had halfway behind the other now. It seemed the eclipse was well under way. But what was that?

'Everyone,' he said with sudden excitement, 'look!' He pointed.

On the other side of the front sun, there was a tiny sliver missing. Something was taking a bite out of it.

The Grand Eclipse was beginning.

10


	43. Chapter 43 When The Stars Are Right

'There it is,' Lady Sharrow said, pointing. 'Caparis.'

They had been flying for some time. The eclipse was in progress, although there was surprisingly little to show for it so far. It was about as bright as a normal, slightly overcast day outside.

Since they had passed the dead hive earlier, the density of settlements had increased dramatically. At one point the Thunderhawk had been in sight of no less then five hives simultaneously. It was helped, of course, by the fact that the massive arcologies stuck up some way above the horizon. You really could see them for miles. Alaster supposed the views from the penthouse suites must be spectacular – if storm clouds and airplanes were your thing, of course.

Over the last quarter of an hour, the density of cloud below them had fallen off drastically. It was now no denser than a normal, bad-weathered world. There was sea visible below and it looked almost normal, with waves, boats and blue water. The islands that they saw were lush and densely vegetated. Except for the fact that the suns sat close to the horizon, you could almost con yourself that this was a normal world's tropical belt.

Up ahead was more evidence of the crazed climate. The shoreline of the arctic continent had come into view. It was ringed with city. No, more than that. It was covered in city. Alaster could see blocky highrise after highrise, broken by linear rows of streets and avenues and parks. In front of it all was a beach, fast approaching. Behind it was a palm-lined coastal road. Alaster could see a double row of traffic, streaming away into the distance in either direction.

'It's big,' Kodos said.

'Several billion people live in the arctic circle,' Lady Sharrow replied.

'There's our destination,' one of the pilots said, pointing to a tiny-looking shoreline highrise in the middle distance.

'It's not dark yet,' Alaster said. 'What's going on?'

'Look now.' Lady Sharrow sounded almost amused. 'It's one minute to totality.'

As Alaster looked, things suddenly happened all at once.

Looking up, he realised the eclipse was more advanced then he'd thought. The suns – sun, really – was cut down to a blazing but narrow annular arc. Most of its disk was hidden behind a sky-coloured circle. And that sky was rapidly darkening. The blazing arc narrowed as he watched. Now it was getting dark. The light level suddenly seemed to plunge. His eyes, he realised – his enhanced eyes had been tracking the declining light, pupils expanding to keep up. Only now they'd finally been overwhelmed.

Motion caught his eye.

Glancing down, he saw something unbelievable. The shadow! He could actually see it, racing across the sea below them! 'There it is!' he said.

He became aware of more motion along the beach. It was, he saw, full of people. Many of them had cameras. Suddenly the beach was lit with numerous little flashes of light as cameras went off. Overhead, the wafer thing arc of the sun flared one last time. Then, suddenly, darkness fell.

'Right,' Lady Sharrow said, 'get us to the hotel.'

Kodos nodded. 'Yes. And when we get there, here's what we're going to do…'

Alaster's earphones crackled. It was Kodos. 'Team Karo - get ready to jump. On my mark.'

Inside his helmet, Alaster nodded. It was an instinctive gesture, although he knew Kodos couldn't see it. 'Yes Sergeant,' he reported. He glanced backward, turning slightly so his backpack wouldn't block his view. Patreus and Nasty were lined up behind him. Nasty had his axe in one hand and Patreus was gripping his chainsword. The marines' other hands were gripping the jump-hoops that ran along the inside of the Thunderhawk's forward compartment.

'You two ready?' Alaster asked.

Nasty nodded. 'Yes!'

'Yes Brother,' Patreus reported. The strip-lights in the compartment gleamed on the Ravens' chest-eagles. The lights also gleamed on the filters and fan assemblies in their jump packs, rising over their heads.

Alaster nodded. 'Good.'

He looked forward, to the hydraulic ramp-door in front of him. It was currently in its space configuration, raised and sealed shut. Emblazoned on the inside of it was the Imperial eagle, a simple outline in black paint. On impulse, Alaster saluted it, tapping his chainsword against his breastplate. 'Bring the storm, Brothers,' he said.

'Mark,' Kodos said. There was a hiss and a clunk. 'The Emperor be with you.'

The mighty hydraulics sighed into action. The ramp clicked free of its seals.

'On a count of three,' Alaster told his team. He tightened his grip on his chainsword. His bolt pistol was holstered at his waist, along with two grenades and a miniaturised medikit. 'One.' The ramp was descending. Sky was visible. 'Two.' He tensed his legs. The ramp fell further. He caught the outline of the tower-tops. Then it was fully open, revealing a rectangle of sky. 'Three. Jump, jump, jump!'

He sprang.

Alaster leapt out of the Thunderhawk. He looked down. There was nothing under his boots but air. He passed the ramp and began to fall. A backward glance revealed Nasty and Patreus, following him out of the belly of the Thunderhawk.

It swept away on its mighty engines, vanishing forwards on its powerful thrusters. The sound was deafening. Alaster's fall was buffeted by the turbulence of its wake. The plan was simple – Kodos and the other team would take up station on one side of the hotel, and Alaster's team would herd the prey toward them.

Alaster counted down. The ground was surging toward them. It was rising fast. He saw the network of streets and tower blocks and cars, lights shining from their bumpers. A glance upwards revealed stars – the sky was dark. But it wasn't lightless, not quite. The suns had vanished entirely behind the bulk of Minoris, but the secondary planet was ringed with crimson. A knife-thin annulus of red light was being lensed through its atmosphere. It had cast the streets below into a bloody twilight.

His count reached four. They were below the worst of the turbulence-vortices now, so it should be safe… 'Brothers – jump packs!'

His own pack roared into life. He was jerked up, fall abruptly arrested.

Patreus and Nasty hovered with him, Patreus to his left and Nasty to his right.

There was a crackle in his earphones. 'We're out,' Kodos reported.

Alaster looked over to the west. The Thunderhawk had flown past the hotel, dropping his team on one side and Eorvan's on the other. Kodos was with them.

Moments later, his earphones crackled again. 'Okay, we've got our packs going,' Kodos said. 'On my mark, drop to the ground!' There was a pause. 'Mark!'

Alaster looked down. The beach was immediately below him. It was swarming with tourists. It seemed they'd got the idea that something was going on above them. There was a new wave of motion amidst the seething mass as people dragged their gaze from the eclipse and toward the low-flying Thunderhawk, as it swung back out over the sea. Its engine-flares were easily the brightest thing in the darkened daytime sky.

A few faces were pointed elsewhere. It seemed the Ravens had been spotted!

Alaster gave it no great thought. As long as the civilians had the sense to get out of the way, it wouldn't matter.

The Assault Marines dropped groundwards.

The beach shot toward them. 'Look at them run!' Nasty enthused over the earphones. Startled tourists were scattering beneath them as the marines plummeted earthwards. It was as well they were running – the beach was heaving with people. Half the city must be out here!

Alaster could hear the howl of the air as it streamed past and the roar of his own jump pack. A clear circle of sand was opening up beneath him, as the mass of confused and startled people retreated outwards. Flocking behaviour had its uses!

An instant before he hit the ground, Alaster fired his thrusters. His plummet sowed sharply. He bent his legs as he landed. Sand crunched under his boots.

For a moment, he was stood in the middle of a ring of disoriented eclipse-watchers. One brave soul took a holo, the flash bright in the half-light.

'Nakana – that's a Space Marine!' he heard someone say. The speaker was over to the left – a middle-aged man with a receding hairline. He was wearing shorts, ugly sandals and a garish shirt. In one hand he had a half-drunk cocktail. The other hand was clutching at a woman's wrist. She wasn't much more than half his age, and she was staring at Alaster. She was distinctly nicer to look at than he was. The man added, 'I wonder what they're doing here.'

There was a crunch. Nasty landed between Alaster and the man. Nasty brandished his axe, looking straight down at the balding man. 'We're here to kill a traitor!' he enthused.

The man quailed, the whites of his eyes suddenly very prominent. The red Minoris-light shone on his bald spot. For her part, Nakana looked fascinated, leaning forward and eyes wide.

In the middle-distance, the shores waves sighed over the sand.

Alaster felt a momentary embarrassment. He looked at the man. 'Not you,' he explained quickly. 'I mean, I'm sure you're not a traitor. I'm sure you're a perfectly pleasant person.'

Nakana shot a silent but sceptical look at her – sugar daddy? father? older brother? dodgy uncle? – but she didn't speak.

Nasty felt the need to add something. 'You know you're not a traitor cos you'd already be dead if you were!' He brandished the axe again. It was inches from the startled man's face.

There was another crunch as Patreus landed. 'Brother Sandy – enough!'

'Did you have to use that name?' There were daggers in Nasty's voice. His helmet turned its ceramite glare in Patreus's direction.

'Okay you two, reel it in,' Alaster interrupted. 'We've got a job to do, and only eight minutes left. The hotel's over there!' He pointed. Then a thought occurred to him. He looked at the balding man. 'You! That is the Polar Hotel, isn't it?'

The man's eyes boggled, but he nodded jerkily. Nakana was visibly enjoying his discomfiture. Clearly whatever their relationship was, it wasn't all roses!

'Okay, thanks. It was handy to check.'

Nakana glanced at the man. For the first time in the exchange, she spoke. 'I guess the Emperor's smiling on you today, Colyt – not only are you apparently not a traitor, you've actually managed to be marginally useful to the Space Marines! ' In an acid tone, she added, 'If only you could manage that for me, once in a while?'

The man – Colyt – looked haggard. 'Yes dear. I'll try, dear.'

'I'll hold you to that,' she said darkly.

Alaster wasn't paying attention. There were more important matters at hand. H looked toward the hotel, dismissing the bickering couple from his thoughts. He looked toward the hotel.

It was a massive, fourteen-story tower, directly overlooking the beach. It had a spectacular view of the sea. Its front side was all windows and balconies. It was painted white, but it looked a bloody pink in the ruddy eclipse-light. Out the front of it was a terrace. There was a swimming pool and a bar-hut, with a thatched roof. It was about thirty metres from the Ravens' landing point. It was separated from the beach by a waist-height dry stone wall.

'Okay Brothers, tactical hop,' Alaster said. 'Try to land just over the wall there. Fire thrusters – now!'

Three jump packs growled into life. With a flash of thrusters and a hiss of displaced sand, three Space Marines took to the air.

They sailed over the confused crowd below. The terrace swept into view. There were people on it too, but not many. The hotel was clearly more exclusive than the beach.

The terrace was raised up by a few feet. It was built out of dark basaltic stone, the surface sanded flat for a smooth finish. There was a staircase along one side of it, flowing down to the beach from a gap in the wall. Behind the wall were well-spaced plant pots, big ones. They were more than a metre wide. Each of them held a fully-grown palm tree, its fronds stirring in the wind.

One tree's fronds were set to flapping madly as Alaster shot past it. Moments later, he hit the terrace running. He had his chainsword in one hand and his bolt pistol in the other. He landed on a deck chair. It collapsed with a wooden crunch, clearly not built for the weight of a Space Marine. Annoyed at this indignity, Alaster kicked the wreckage of the frame away.

There were thumps as Patreus and Nasty hit the terrace in formation on either side of Alaster. They were stood between the thatched bar-hut and the pool. The water lapped at the tiles, making a _shush-shush_ sound. On the far side, a terrified swimmer scrambled out of the pool and ran away, leaving big wet footprints behind them.

There was a crash and the sound of broken glass. Nearby, a waiter had dropped his tray. A bottle of some expensive alcohol had smashed on the basalt terrace. Booze was spilling out amongst the broken glass.

Alaster pointed his chainsword at the man. 'You! Where's deCopelberg?'

The man blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. He looked terrified. He raised a shaking hand and pointed, toward the hotel.

Alaster turned and looked. People were milling around all over the terrace. The arrival of the Space Marines had caused commotion. Alaster had a bad feeling about this. Civilians everywhere, and apparently deCopelberg was somewhere in the building-

In the ruddy light, Alaster caught movement. He looked down. His shadow, on the carmine-stained stone – there was another one! He saw it just as Patreus shouted a warning. 'Alaster – behind you!'

Alaster threw himself down and rolled to one side. The waiter hit the stone, where the Space Marine had just stood. The man's eyes were blank and he was clutching a knife he'd produced from somewhere. Alaster caught a flash of silver poking out from the man's collar – electronics! Yes – there was some sort of electronics plugged into the man's neck!

The man rolled to his feet. For an instant, Alaster was staring into dead, empty eyes. 'Combat servitor!' he shouted to his brothers. 'Watch out!'

The man was no man. He probably had been once, but whatever humanity he'd possessed had been removed. He had no will of his own. He walked toward the Space Marine, raising the knife. The eclipse-light shone on the blade, like a spreading blood-stain.

Alaster wondered about that first expression of fear. Probably just the firing of a personality programme, he decided. There was no mind inside that skull, not any more. A combat servitor, disguised to look and work as a waiter, so as not to disturb or disquiet wealthy patrons of the hotel. It was definitely up-market here – they had the expensive sort of security!

The servitor leapt at Alaster.

Alaster stepped to the side. The hand-and-knife sailed past him. He turned. The servitor tried to regain its balance. Alaster raised his leg and kicked. His boot slammed into its back, the black waistcoat flapping.

The servitor toppled over.

As it fell Alaster pulled up his bolt pistol. He shot it in the chest, then in the head, just to make sure. A double bang boomed out over the terrace. Blood and brains and circuitry spilled out. Some wiring in the man's back sparked violently, blinding white light spurting out and an ozone and burnt meat smell wafting into the air.

Then he exploded.

The blast wave picked Alaster up and hurled him backwards. A deafening roar rolled over him. He felt himself flipped head over heels. The ground became sky and the sky ground. He caught a brief glimpse of the eclipse as it spun past. There was the black disk of Minoris, a few tiny city-lights visible in its northern hemisphere and ringed by its bloody halo. Beyond that was a silvery, diaphanous swirling mist – the twisted and tangle double-corona of the system's binary sun, normally lost in the solar glare but visible just this once. Then it spun away and he caught a glimpse of the pool-

There was a splash. Alaster slammed into the water chest-first. He was surrounded by the blue, lit from beneath by some intra-pool lamps. Bubbles and foam swirled around him.

With a kick of his legs Alaster managed to reassert some control. The pool wasn't deep. His feet touched the bottom and his head surfaced. Water cascaded off his helmet, briefly blurring his eyelenses. He shook his head sharply, sending droplets cascading off.

Alaster was surrounded by devastation. The servitor's auto-destruct had blown a crater in the basalt terrace. The bar-hut was half-demolished. The thatch roof had been blown away and the counter was torn open. Through the torn planks of wood, Alaster could see the bottles at the back of the bar, most of them smashed open. The contents of one of them, presumably very alcoholic indeed, were on fire, burning with dribbles of blue flame as they spilled from the sundered bottle.

The nearest two palm trees had been stripped entirely of their leaves and were on their sides, their cracked and burnt pots having been bowled over by the blast. The next two trees were still upright but were also on fire. Bits and pieces of debris were scattered all over the place.

There was a splash next to him and Patreus surfaced from the pool. He'd been blown off his feet too. There was another splash further down as Nasty re-surfaced.

'What the skak was that?' he demanded angrily.

'Get out of the water!' Alaster said. 'Get into cover!'

He pulled himself over to the edge of the pool. Thankfully, he still had his weapons. He hauled himself out of the water and sprinted over to the nearby wall. The gate to the beach was just next to him. He sprung over the wall and onto the steps. He dropped to a firing crouch, bolt pistol out and peering round the edge of the wall. Nasty and Patreus followed suit. They dropped into positions nearby, Nasty behind a still-standing plant pot and Patreus behind a large ornamental statue with a big stone base. The marines had the terrace covered.

'Team Karo!' It was Kodos's voice. 'We saw an explosion. Report!'

'Bomb,' Alaster said. 'The waiter – a combat servitor! He attacked me. I took him down – then he blew up!'

'Casualties?' Kodos demanded.

Alaster looked around. He took in the wrecked bar. 'My dignity and a lot of alcohol, Sergeant. But we're not hurt.'

They'd been lucky. Alaster's power armour had absorbed the blast and the water had broken his fall. It could have easily been a lot worse.

'This is bad,' Kodos said. 'If they've got combat servitors programmed to blow on us, already – we've been rumbled, lads! Someone must have voxed in ahead of us.'

'What are your orders, Sergeant?' Alaster asked.

'The mission's still on,' Kodos said. 'We've got a dumb skakker who's asked for payback now. Shooting at Ravens isn't clever. But from now on this is a combat mission – make sure you shoot first.'

'The civilians?' Alaster asked.

'The sensible ones will get out of our way,' Kodos said bluntly. 'As for deCopelberg's groupies … well, Lady Sharrow wanted a political operation. She can be the one to clean up the mess.' Kodos was angry – very angry, Alaster realised. 'How are your jump packs.'

'Skak – hadn't thought of that.' Alaster called up the readouts on his pack. They were all read. 'Oh skak. It's full of water! And crap from the blast!' He wasn't going anywhere on this jump pack any time soon, he realised. If he tried to run the thrusters with this much much clogging them up – no. It wouldn't even be worth the risk. Water was still splashing out through the filters. Every time he moved slightly, he displaced another pool.

'Me too,' Patreus reported.

'My pack's bust,' Nasty added angrily.

'The blast,' Alaster explained lamely to Kodos. 'It dumped us in the pool.'

The sergeant let loose and impressive stream of profanity. Then, slightly calmer, he said, 'All right. Ditch the packs. No point you hauling all that dead weight around. We can pick them up later.'

Alaster only had to think the commands. Thanks to the techno-magic of the black carapace, he didn't need to so anything else. The jump pack disengaged itself from his backpack. It dropped onto the sand behind him with a wet thud. Water streamed out, darkening the bloody sand.

'Change of plan,' Kodos said. 'You're going into the hotel on foot. We've got recon on the terrace – no-one's out there. Looks like the target's gone indoors, probably to his suite. You go up the stairs, we'll come down from the roof.'

'Okay, orders received.' Alaster looked at his brothers. 'Let's go!'

The Storm Ravens, now jump pack-less, leapt up from their positions. Weapons brandished, they raced across the wrecked terrace. They did it with the remarkable speed that only Space Marines can maintain. Moments later, they were at the door to the hotel itself. Beyond was a large communal lounge. A few terrified guests had plastered themselves against the walls.

The lounge was far enough back that its long glazed windows had survived the servitor's explosion. Alaster didn't even waste time with the locks. Instead he slammed his chainsword into the glass, finger on the activation stud. The chainsword growled and the glass screamed. It smashed, cascading inwards.

Alaster punched his way in through the remaining plate. Two crashes on either side of him told him that Nasty and Patreus were in with him. Broken glass cascaded over the carpet, glittering in the bloody twilight.

Alaster pointed his chainsword at the nearest terrified hotel-guest. 'You – where is the traitor, deCopelberg?'

The woman's mouth opened and closed but she raised a trembling hand, pointing upwards. 'P-penthouse suite! We saw h-him get the elevator!'

'Heads up!' Patreus said. 'There's a waiter!'

On the far side of the room was a service door. It had just banged open. In walked another dead-eyed waiter. This one didn't have a tray – he was carrying an autogun!

Alaster looked at the civilians. 'All of you!' he barked. 'Get out! NOW! That man's a walking bomb!' He gestured his sword at the nearest door.

The terrified people fled toward, crying, screaming and shouting. The crowd vanished through it. Alaster breathed a sigh of relief once the civilians were cleared.

The dead-eyed waiter was continuing forwards. He was a third of the way to them now. His feet fell on the carpet with the automatic regularity of a machine.

He raised his autogun-

Patreus's bolt pistol roared, followed quickly by Nasty's. One shot blew off the hand with the gun. The other smacked into his temple. The waiter's head exploded, spraying brains, blood and circuitry over the wall behind him. The half-robot corpse flopped to the ground. The gun crunched down onto some broken glass, next to it.

Alaster gestured to the door. 'Quick – let's get out before he blows!'

The marines raced into the corridor.

Moments later, there was a boom from behind them. Dust and debris fountained through the open door. Alaster heard a wave of tinkling as the last of the glass was swept from the door-frames. Smoke billowed into the corridor. A shifting red light suggested fire in the other room.

'If they explode,' Nasty said suddenly, 'do we still have to leave a tip?'

'Well, it is very personal service, I guess,' Patreus mused. 'But if they try to kill the Emperor's servants, I think that kind of changes the moral situation.'

'Morals - we need to clear this building,' Alaster said. 'Too many civilians.'

Something caught his eye. On the wall next to him was a plastic box with a big red button in it. The fire alarm! He didn't even hesitate. He smashed his fist into it, with the full force of his enhanced muscles and the servomotors in his suit.

The plastic was smashed to bits. The button was hammered into the wall. And the fire alarm began to howl. Sprinklers in the ceiling burst into life.

'Thanks Alaster!' Nasty complained. 'I was just starting to dry off!' Water was cascading down over him.

'Team Karo, report!' It was Kodos. 'We can see smoke from the lounge. What's going on?'

'Another contact,' Alaster reported. 'Another explosive waiter. We took him down – no casualties. I've set the alarms off, to clear the building. The target's in the penthouse. We're going to move up now.'

'Acknowledged,' Kodos said. 'We're in position on the roof. We'll try a direct entry.' He clicked off.

Alaster looked at the other two marines. 'Okay Brothers,' he said, 'let's find the stairs.'

'Not the elevator?' Nasty asked hopefully.

'Skak that. It'll be the first thing they'll have booby-trapped.'

'Oh. I hate stairs!'

'Stop whinging and get a move on.' Alaster realised that for a moment there, he'd sounded just like Kodos.

There was a flight of stairs just around the corner. The Space Marines set off up it. It seemed the building had emptied quickly – or perhaps most of it had been empty, booked up for the privacy and comfort of its important guests. Whatever the case, they didn't pass anyone on the stairs.

The Space Marines took the stairs as fast as they could, but taking that many flights was going to take a while. Alaster watched the counter at the corner of his field of view, as his boots pounded on the stairs. He was breathing hard and fast inside his helmet. He was painfully aware that time was running down. They had less than three minutes of totality left, and when the suns returned the Ravens would lose the advantage of darkness.

There was a crackle in his earphones. 'Kodos here,' the sergeant said. 'This is skak-tastic, but we can't get in.'

'What?' Alaster was surprised.

'There's a forcefield behind the glass,' Kodos said. 'We smashed the glass easily enough, but our bolts just bounced off the field. The skakkers on the other side were laughing – laughing! – at us.'

'Is he there?' Alaster asked.

'He's there,' Kodos agreed. 'There's some good news. I think we've spotted the power transformer that supplied the hotel. We're going to take it out. Knock the power out, knock the shield out. We need you in place to skak them up when we do.'

'Orders received,' Alaster said. 'We're on our way up the stairs.'

'Good,' Kodos said. 'Bring the storm, Ravens.'

'Yes Sergeant!'

They took another flight when the ambush happened.

They were just passing one of the landings when a door was flung open. The muzzle of a machine gun stuck itself out. It roared to life, its muzzle flashing with light. Bullets rained out.

Alaster dived to the ground. Rounds rattled against the walls and the stairs. He felt the reverberations as several bounced off his armour. Nasty was stood with his back to the wall, next to the door.

'Nasty!' Alaster shouted. 'Grenade!'

Nasty nodded. He pulled a grenade from his belt and pushed the button. It beeped in activation. He leaned out and tossed it through the open door. There was a startled yell from the other side.

A man tried to jump through. He was wearing dark fatigues and flak armour marked with the shield of House deCopelberg. And then, an instant later, his head was lopped off by Nasty's axe. The body slapped down onto the ground, arterial blood spurting from the severed neck. The head sailed through the air and banged onto the floor, rolling into a corner.

A moment later there was a loud thud and a flash from the corridor. Smoke billowed out, accompanied by a couple of quick and soon-cut-off screams.

Silence fell. Nasty waved his axe blade in front of the open door. No fire returned. Alaster drew himself up to his feet. He looked into the corridor. There was no sign of life. A couple of dead deCopelberg retainers had been splashed across the walls. Several doors had been blown from their frames and a big chunk of carpet had been shredded. Some wreckage was burning in one corner. The sprinkler above it had been mangled beyond use by the blast. Water sprayed from the broken sprinkler-pipe nearer the door. It was already spilling out onto the corridor.

'Everyone okay?' Alaster asked.

'Yes,' Patreus said.

Nasty was inspecting his axe. 'I'm fine,' he said, turning the blade over. Eclipse-light, spilling in through the window on the other side of the stairwell, played over the bloodstain along its edge.

'Okay,' Alaster said, 'we're going up.'

They pounded up the stairs again. Alaster relayed a quick outline of the contact to Kodos. Kodos and Team Eorvan were almost at the substation, the sergeant reported.

The remaining flights of stairs passed without incident. Moments later, the marines found themselves in front of a door on the uppermost floor. They were in a large atrium, windows all along one side, looking out over the sea. The bloody eclipse was still in progress above them. The atrium was rectangular, with the penthouse at one end and the stairwell at the other. It was decorated with potted plants and even a small indoor fountain, halfway along the back wall. A shiny marble floor ran between the walls. There was a vaulted ceiling overhead, arches rising from three columns spaced along the atrium.

Alaster hammered on the door. 'IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR AND THE INQUISITION, OPEN UP!' he shouted. There was no response from the other side.

He hammered on it again. There was silence.

'I guess that answers the legalities,' Patreus observed.

'Step back, everyone,' Alaster said. 'Nasty, you're a good shot. Take out the lock.'

'With pleasure,' Nasty said.

The marines stepped backward and spread out in the atrium beyond the door. They were positioned so that no-one on the other side could have a clear line of fire on all of them. Alaster dropped behind another ornamental plant pot. Like the ones outside, it was huge and full of dense earth. It would provide some cover. Patreus was crouched next to a decorative but thick column.

Nasty fired at the lock.

The bolt exploded on impact, sending fragments of metal and wood scattering everywhere. The door slammed forward, then bounced outwards. A rippling bluish forcefield was revealed. It shed an unsteady, electric light into the atrium. Even through his helmet filters, Alaster could smell the ozone scent it put out, air molecules being ripped apart as they hit its energetic surface.

Nasty shot at it again. The bolt blew up harmlessly on the energy barrier.

'Cheating skakkers,' he growled.

Alaster heard feet on the stairs. He turned – to see the rising head of another waiter! 'Trouble behind us,' he reported. He shot the waiter in the head, bolt pistol barking in his hand. The waiter toppled backwards, falling down the stairs. 'Everyone get down!'

Moments later the floor beneath them shook. A flash of light and a cloud of debris blossomed over the stairwell. The waiter was no more. A rumble echoed through the atrium. Two of the panes in the long window cracked. Detritus rained down around them, rattling off of cover and ceramite.

'Skakking servitors,' Nasty growled.

Patreus got up. He walked over to where the stairs had been. 'It's knocked out the stairs,' he said. 'The stairwell's still there, but not the risers!'

'Getting down's going to be interesting, then,' Alaster said.

His earphones crackled. 'Kodos here. We're in position. Where are you?'

'Outside the penthouse, sergeant. There's a forcefield blocking us too – hey, what was that?'

As Alaster spoke, a dazzling silver flare surged into the room. He looked, confused. It had come in through the long window – oh.

Outside, the cosmic clockwork was moving on. The intense blood-red glare was vanishing from around Minoris. The faint city-lights were gone already. And at one edge of the planet, an intense white light was shining through. The suns' disks had found the edge of some deep valley. As Alaster watched, the eclipse was ending. There was now just the narrowest arc of blazing white light, poking out from behind the companion planet's bulk.

The stars were winking out from the sky. The darkness toned rapidly to a deep beige.

'We're losing the darkness,' he reported.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'We're hitting the transformer – NOW!'

There was a flicker from the other end of the hall. The bluish forcefield surged and then flared. For a moment it was a hot white, then it faded out with a hissing crackle of dissipating energies. There were shouts of consternation from the now visible inside.

'Grenades!' Alaster ordered.

Nasty and Patreus threw one apiece. Their aims were perfect. The little cylinders sailed through the door. Moments later, out in the atrium, the marines felt and heard two thumps. A plume of dust burped through the door.

The Space Marines leapt from their improvised cover and sprinted forward. Alaster dived through the door. As he did he took in two surviving henchmen, on the far side of the room. With deCopelberg uniforms. One was bringing up a gun-

But not fast enough.

Alaster dived across the room. Before the man could do anything more than stare in horror, he was briefly face to face with the Space Marine. Then a chainsword tore him in two. Moments after he was down, Alaster turned and brought his blade down on the man's accomplice.

Three seconds had passed. Two corpses lay on the ground.

Alaster spun round. The room was a scene of devastation. The windows at the back had been blown out. Broken furniture was scattered everywhere, shattered and blackened. Several mangled bodies lay, bloodied and dead amongst the chaos.

At the other side of the room were two more doors.

Alaster thumbed one of his grenades. He walked forward, to what he thought was the bathroom. He kicked the door open and threw the grenade through, then jumped back.

'Oh, skak-' a voice began. Then there was a thump and a rattle of loosened window panes. More dust billowed out. And a spreading pool of blood trickled out past the door.

Alaster ducked inside. There had been someone in the bathroom. To judge from the remains, they'd been stood near the sink. Most of the body had been blown out of the window behind them. There had been a bit of splashback, across the walls – hence the puddle. The floor was littered with wrecked fittings and shattered wall-tiles.

Alaster stepped back out. 'The bathroom's clear,' he told Nasty and Patreus. 'Let's deal with the bedroom.'

There were two more people in there. One was a deCopelberg soldier, the other was a man in Majorian business dress. It looked expensive and he looked angry – it was deCopelberg, Alaster realised. The man opened his mouth to say something, but never got to finish. His parted jaw gave Nasty an excellent target for a bolt.

deCopelberg's head exploded. Gore splashed back over the wall behind him. Fragments of bone dug into the wallpaper. The rest of his body toppled to the ground.

The soldier screamed and dropped his gun. He looked up at the Space Marines, tears streaming out of his eyes. 'Please – please don't kill me,' he stammered.

'Cowardice,' Patreus growled, 'The Emperor rejects cowards. It should be rewarded with-'

'Patreus. Shelve it. He's not on our death-list,' Alaster said. He looked at the crying soldier. 'It's your lucky day. Believe it or not, we're the nice sort of Space Marines. You should thank the Emperor He didn't send the Flesh Tearers after your master. Now up against the wall, and keep your hands where I can see them!'

The man did what he was told, without hesitation.

'What do we do with him now?' Nasty asked.

'Take him with us,' Alaster said. 'Lady Sharrow will probably want a witness.'

'Umm,' Patreus said. 'A thought. We don't have our jump packs and the stairs have been wrecked. How do we get out?'

Their earphones crackled. 'I heard all that,' Kodos said. 'There should be a roof terrace in the front room. Get your prisoner and go to the front of it.'

Alaster walked over and took hold of one of the sobbing man's arms. He was careful not to be too firm – ordinary humans were so fragile! 'Come on,' Alaster said, leading the man away.

Moments later, they were stood on the roof terrace. Alaster surveyed the view from this high vantage point. The hotel was a mess. Fire had broken out on several floors, even with the sprinklers. Smoke was billowing out of the downstairs lounge. The pool and the terrace now looked more like a warzone than a holiday resort.

Alaster looked up, toward the horizon. Sat low in the arctic skies, the suns were returning. The edge of one was emerging from behind the other. The disk of Minoris was still eclipsing most of one of them, but there was visibly more of the blazing disk then there had been a few minutes ago. The sky had already returned to its familiar beige.

A rising rumble caught his attention.

He looked up in time to see the Thunderhawk. It was a dot in the distance for a moment, then it rapidly swelled. It was flight straight at the hotel! For an instant he thought it was going to run them down. Then as it approached, he saw the thrusters rotate and fire. It slowed and with a deafening growl and a strong backwash of hot wind, it was suddenly hovering in front of them, only metres from the edge of the roof terrace.

The fresh sunlight, Alaster noted, was shining across the chapter insignia emblazoned on the wings.

With a rumble of hydraulics, the door ramp opened and descended. It rested on the rail around the roof terrace. Kodos was stood just inside.

'Okay you lot,' he said, 'get aboard. And bring your captive.'


	44. Chapter 44 A Poverty of Options

Some rain splattered onto the pavement. It hissed as it fell from the splotchy beige sky. The pavements clicked under Alaster's boot-heels. Densely-packed highrises towered around them, reaching blindly up into the sky. Balconies rose in orderly ranks on every side and the sky reflected on the glassy facades of thousands of windows. A fat streamer of cloud was scudding overhead, bringing with it the streamer of rain. It was gone almost as soon as it began. The weather seemed very variable in Majoris's polar circles.

'That's the third one!' Nasty complained. He pointed at a shop. It was sighted on the corner of a block of highrises.

'Nasty,' Alaster said, 'watch it! We're supposed to be guarding her ladyship, not sightseeing!'

'But we're supposed to be observant, right?' Nasty said. 'I was just being aware of the terrain!'

'Shut up and behave,' Kodos's voice growled in their earphones.

The Space Marines were on their way back to the Thunderhawk. After they'd been picked up, post-execution, Lady Sharrow had given a quick press conference at the nearby Chamber of Commerce building. She'd had their prisoner along, as a witness, before sending him on his way. He'd blubbered lots of stuff about the horror of the fight and had spent the entire time nervously eyeing the Space Marines. In the meantime the Thunderhawk was sat on the beach. It was the only stretch of clear ground big enough to hold it. The conference had been short and to the point. The violence at the hotel had attracted a lot of spectators, as well as the Arbites and the fire service. There had been plenty of witnesses and plenty of camera-skulls to broadcast her words to the planetary audience. She had explained the necessity of deCopelberg's demise and had made it clear the Corporation's co-operation was expected. She had then thanked the audience but had very pointedly not taken any questions. The marines had escorted her out – more a case of shouldering their way through a half-rabid scrum of reporters and local officials.

Then they had found themselves on the streets of Caparis.

Nasty was right about the shop, though. Alaster got a good look at it as he scanned their surroundings for any threats. It was on the other side of the street, behind a row of palm trees. It was right on the corner, the words 'MDC Store' spelt out in bright lettering over the doors. For the illiterate, there was a plastic rendition of the planetary seal hung out the front. There were shops like it on every other street corner. In the short distance between the Chamber of Commerce and where they were now, the Ravens had passed no less that seven of these MDC Stores.

Cars grumbled past. There was a screech of brakes as the lights, hung out over the road on a long wire, changed. The lamps wobbled back and forth in the light breeze. The air was muggy and humid. It smelt of car fumes and faintly of the nearby sea.

'You're going to need a brush,' Patreus said, looking at Alaster.

'Yes, thank you Brother, I had noticed.' Alaster glanced down self-consciously at the big patches of bare ceramite on the front of his suit. A lot of the paintwork had been scoured off by the shower of debris from the exploding servitor. It included a big chunk of the lightning-bearing raven on his shoulder. Alaster felt oddly naked with that defaced.

'I know what it is,' Nasty said suddenly.

'What? Know what is?' Alaster said.

'Something's been bothering me. I just figured out what the skak it was.'

'What's been bothering you?'

'No hedges,' Nasty said.

Alaster was briefly confused, then he looked around and comprehension dawned. Nasty was right! There were no hedgerows anywhere in Caparis. Either the dying climate had killed them off, or there'd never been any to start with. They'd passed a small public park, a tiny handkerchief of grass laid out on the ground between the towering apartment blocks. On Delta, it would have some sort of hedge around the edges. Instead, here there'd just been a chainlink fence. It had looked disconcerting, Alaster supposed.

'I suppose you're right,' he agreed.

'Situational awareness,' Nasty said proudly. 'See, I've been practising! Isn't that what we're meant to have, Sergeant?'

'Hedges,' Kodos pointed out, 'are not the enemy. Hedges only matter if the enemy is hiding behind them.'

'Talking of awareness, here comes more rain,' Patreus said.

Right on cue, another cloud scudded over the suns. Alaster had to contrast the slight darkening with the earlier eclipse. This was much less impressive.

Another burst of lukewarm rain splattered down from the sky.

'There we are,' a voice from behind Alaster said. Lady Sharrow was walking with Kodos in the middle of a ring of Space Marines. They were taking up most of the space on the pavement. People kept having to get out of their way – Alaster wondered if that was her idea, to make another public scene to reinforce her authority? Shoving pedestrians off the pavement seemed just a bit petty, though.

Or could it just be that she hadn't thought to ring a taxi?

Come to think of it, Alaster supposed, there probably weren't many Space Marine-sized taxis on Majoris. A slow walk back to the beach might be more impressive then a farcical attempt to stuff a squad of fully-armed Astartes warriors into a tiny car. Maybe there was some method to her madness. Maybe.

A big droplet splashed right onto Alaster's eye lens. He shook his head to dislodge it, the water briefly smearing out the lights over the road into a multicolour blur.

'There it is,' Lady Sharrow repeated. 'On the beach.'

Alaster looked up. Up ahead of them, the regular grid of roads and highrises opened out into the Beachside Avenue. Beyond that, and another line of palms nodding in the humid wind, Alaster could see the beach. Between the promenade and the waves, the middle-distance was dominated by the bulk of the Thunderhawk. A gaggle of nervous sightseers were staring at it, hanging back on the pavement.

'About time,' Kodos said. 'The sooner we get off this miserable planet, the better!'

Moments later, the squad boarded the Thunderhawk. Kodos went up to the pilot's compartment. Eorvan and Alaster were summoned, as before. They strapped in while the pre-flights began. Finally the spaceplane was ready for takeoff.

Leaving Majoris's atmosphere was a more sedate affair than their entry had been. They just lit up and took off. The city dwindled beneath them. It was rapidly followed by the polar continent, subsiding behind a smog of cloud, and then finally the atmosphere itself faded away. They were back in space. The stars glinted around them, bright, diamond-sharp, steady points rather than the flickering glimmers seen from the ground.

Majoris was behind them. Up ahead, a black circle of missing heavens marked Minoris. Along one edge, a hairline-thickness crescent was just barely visible. This soon after the eclipse, the planet's day-phase was still almost entirely turned away from them. Here and there in the blackness of the nightside, you could see a few city lights glimmering. There weren't many left, and those that were had something of the sense of fading embers to them.

The cockpit was half-lit, picked out with the glow of the instruments and the pilots' screens. They were busy, muttering pilot jargon back and forth at each other and going about their work with quiet professionalism. Kodos was discussing something to do with the journey back with them. The cabin's background sounds were quiet conversation and the hum of the ventilators.

_Whir-clunk_.

Alaster groaned. 'Oh no! Not that thing again! Why the skak don't we have quiet fans?' He thumped his helmeted head against the headrest. This was going to be a long journey.

Lady Sharrow leaned back in her chair. She was sat next to him. They were at the end of the arc of seats behind the pilots. Kodos looked briefly their way from the far end of the arc, but didn't say anything.

Lady Sharrow twisted round, viewing the offending ventilator fan. She gave it a good look, then sat back again. 'Probably for some of the same reasons why there's one shop everywhere on Majoris, Brother-Marine.'

Alaster was puzzled. 'What does the fan have to do with the shops?'

'Economics,' she said. 'Money. Goods. Trade. Why can't we afford better fans? The answer is, we would if we could.'

She was talking in riddles. Alaster felt like he'd been told something profound, but he hadn't quite caught it. 'I'm not following. Sorry.'

'The Majoris Development Corporation,' she said. 'They basically own everything on the planet. So they have company shops everywhere. You saw them, on all the street corners. And the company holds the planetary fief from the Imperium, so the company makes the rules. The company doesn't want competition, because the competition might eat into sales. So it tries to control everything it can – like what's in those MDC Shops, the ones you see everywhere.' She sighed cynically. 'Private ownership is basically meaningless when everything's a monopoly. Is it private enterprise or is it backdoor socialism? It's hard to tell.'

She was silent for a moment. Then the fan made its noise again. Her eyes locked onto Alaster's. Her ability to do that was remarkable, given that he had a helmet in the way!

She said, 'And the fan, well. Space Marines don't want their secrets getting out and they don't want to have outsiders interfering in their business. If you have an open door, you never quite know who's wondering through it. So they do as much as they can in-house – specially-trained serfs, Tech-Priests on life secondment, that sort of thing. But they can't do everything – any more than the MDC can make every single product that goes into its stores! They might try, but they'll never be able to do it. The MDC's wealth is based on exploiting trade – it can't do autarchy. It can't even try. The very idea would demolish Majoris's development, the very thing the corporation is chartered to do! So they have to allow some outside products in, whether they want to or not.'

Alaster was puzzled. 'I thought you were implying we were like the corporation. Um, how?'

She shook her head. 'No, that was never my point. You aren't. I was just observing that some of the same basic economic pressures apply. You Astartes – you try to keep it all in the family. You want people you can trust to have your backs – which is perfectly understandable. But you can't do everything. You exist to fight, not to run factories! So some stuff has to come in from outside. And that's where things like the duff fan come from.' She sighed. 'Society can't supply anything more than what it can afford.'

'And society can't afford a better fan?'

'Possibly not, no.' She shifted around on her chair. 'Logistics. It's the thing everyone likes to ignore. We like to focus on the bravery of warriors, or the drama of the frontline. It makes a better story. It's an easier sell to the masses. But try and convince them that the worker in the factory matters too? Or the farmer in the field? Good luck with that.'

'I doubt many Imperial soldiers would be pleased to know they don't matter.'

'Brother-Marine, I never said that. And I don't mean to demean or cheapen the bravery of the Imperium's finest – the Emperor forbid! No. But it is true that an army marches on its stomach. It also marches on the boots on its feet. If either of those conditions isn't met, then failure is the only option. If you didn't have your chainsword, what then?'

'No Space Marine will lose his weapon,' Alaster said.

'But what if you did – and there was no replacement?'

'I'd fight with my fists.'

She nodded. 'I'm sure you would, Brother. I'm sure you'd fight well. But you can get so much more done with proper equipment. But it takes time and energy to properly-equip a warrior. Take the bolter. Have you ever thought how much work goes into making one?'

Alaster shook his head uneasily. 'As long as it fires, no.'

'Maybe you should,' she said. 'The STCs help, of course. They simplify things enormously. But a bolter still needs metal ores digging out of the ground. To have a bolter, you have to have mines. You have to have forges, to refine the metal. You have to have moulds and lathes to shape the metal. You need precision cutting devices to drill the holes and file the edges. You need trained assemblers to fit them together. And that's just the tip of the pyramid.'

'A pyramid?'

'Yes, a pyramid. You see, all those workers need feeding. Farms need to be run to supply them with food. They need somewhere to live. Houses have to be built. People need to be able to get to them from their workplaces – you need roads and transportation. And, of course, those finished bolters need to be shipped to their destinations. All that happens before a Battle-Brother ever sets eyes on his weapon. A bolter doesn't condense out of the air by magic. A bolter, and any other weapon like it, is the product of a civilisation. Take away the civilisation and you don't have that any more.'

'You're thinking about Minoris, aren't you?'

She nodded. 'Brother-Marine, I don't think about much else these days. All this will have consequences far beyond this little solar system. The loss of a world means the loss of its economy, with no hope of ever recovering it. All those goods and services it might provide, all those tools it might make … all gone. I mentioned the bolter. You can argue about the numbers, and people do. But one estimate I saw said that, directly or indirectly, you need two million other human beings to make one bolter.' She stared mordantly at the black disk of Minoris. 'And I wonder how many bolters losing that planet will cost us.'

'Surely less than losing it to the Bugs.'

She nodded. 'Also true. But how many lesser evils can we absorb? The Imperium isn't a rich society, Battle-Brother. Ten thousand years of war will do that to you. Rich societies grow. We have to fight harder every year to hold onto what we've got. War is very good at destroying wealth. It's one of the few ways you can actually do it. Left to itself, wealth tends to generate more of it. But look at our society – it's poor and it's primitive.'

Alaster blinked inside his helmet. He'd never heard anyone describe the Imperium like that! He felt disturbed. Something was clearly the matter. Lady Sharrow had been increasingly given to this sort of creepy talk recently. He hoped it was just a phase.

She reached into her robe and pulled out the flask. The cockpit lights gleamed on its metallic sin. The stopper squeaked as she unscrewed it. She took a deep sip.

'That's good,' she observed, replacing the cap.

'The Imperium,' Alaster said, 'isn't poor in the Emperor's light.'

'No, you're right, we're rich in the Imperial faith,' she agreed. 'What I meant was a more prosaic observation. Look at most of our planets. The bulk of them have vertical hierarchies – a small and uber-wealthy overclass dominates a vast and poor underclass. Almost all of the small amount of wealth that exists is controlled by just a few people.'

'Delta isn't like that,' Alaster insisted.

'Probably more than you might like to think,' Lady Sharrow remarked, 'although I acknowledge that your homeworld is a bit different. But bear in mind that Delta is hardly normal. It's a Chapter homeworld. It has something that most worlds don't enjoy – security! It's no coincidence that it's your sector's banking sector. Delta is guarded by Space Marines. It's the safest place for twitchy investors to shove their money. And it's exempt from Imperial tithes, so business is doubly good. So you're right – Delta isn't so much like the rest of the Imperium.'

'But you said the Imperium was poor.'

'Yes, it is – at the galactic level! That doesn't mean every single world is in the dust. Just that for every rich one like Delta or Majoris, there's ten or twenty dirt-poor ones. And as we just saw, it isn't always all roses on the wealthy ones, either.' She fell silent again. The faint sounds of the cockpit surrounded them – the whir of the fans, the pilots talking quietly to each other and behind it all, the faint thrum of the engines rising through the floor.

Alaster felt a need to try and pick a hole in her uncomfortable thesis. 'The Space Wolves,' he said suddenly. 'They're from Fenris, and that's just supposed to be tribes and islands, right? But they have guns and stuff.'

He'd expected Lady Sharrow to be angry with his arguing. Instead, she actually smiled! She looked genuinely pleased! 'Good,' she said. 'Apparently you can think – excellent! Take some advice from me – work on that gift! The Emperor must have given you it for a reason.' She was quiet for a moment. 'Unfortunately you need to think about it some more.'

'Do I?' Alaster was confused.

'The key,' she said, 'to a defensible idea is analysis. You have to be able to put together the facts, even the ones that don't immediately seem relevant. You see, the Space Wolves actually support my notion.'

'Do they? How?'

'I'll give you a clue. Think about weapons.'

Alaster felt puzzled. After a moment, he said, 'They have lots of swords and axes and stuff?'

'Yes,' she said, 'they do. And which do you think is more complicated? A sword or a bolter? Which takes more labour and more energy to produce? Which needs more components and more time to make? Which needs more civilisation behind it? And Fenris – well, by any reasonable standard, it must be one of the poorest and least-developed worlds in the Imperium. And oddly enough, the Space Wolves like to fight with close-combat weapons. We all like to tell ourselves it's down to honour or tradition...' She shook her head. 'No. It isn't. The tradition grows up around the reality, not the other way around.'

Alaster felt disquieted once more. He also felt the need to make a couple of points. 'The Space Wolves are good in close combat, so it makes sense to focus on it,' he said. 'Also, surely power weapons aren't the same as dumb steel?'

She nodded. 'You're right on both counts. But don't you think they're also just as capable of being good with guns?'

'The geneseed…' Alaster trailed off awkwardly. He realised that he'd been about to imply that it was inferior. He shuddered at the thought. What arrogance that could have suggested! He thought of Haakon and Eirik. Inferiority? That wasn't the way Alaster felt about them at all. They were entirely capable, brave and dedicated warriors, disciplined reflections of their Chapter's long and glorious history. Alaster realised he needed to be more careful in blanket assertions.

He looked carefully at the Inquisitor. The cabin lights played over her face. She wasn't looking directly at him, she was staring out at the sky. She had a remarkable ability to loosen tongues, Alaster noted ruefully. And a remarkable ability to get you to say unfortunate things.

'The geneseed is different,' she agreed, 'but not that different.' Alaster had to repress a shudder. It was as if she was reading his mind! 'Look at the Long Fangs. They're as good as any other Devastator Marines – that's what they effectively are, after all.'

'Yes,' Alaster agreed, feeling the need to say something but not wanting to risk putting his foot in it again. Agreeing with the Inquisitor seemed the safest course.

'The Space Wolves,' Lady Sharrow said, 'Are perfectly capable of using guns. And as well as any other Space Marines. Unless we assume that the geneseed is all dodgy, of course, in which case all the bets are off.'

'I wouldn't want to defend that as an idea,' Alaster said with some relief, 'least of all around a Space Wolf.'

'Nor would I,' she agreed. 'But if you want to see the real evidence for my idea, look at heavy weapons. The biggest, most complicated guns. With most chapters, the tactical squads may have some. Not so the Space Wolves. They have a speciality within their warriors who get the big guns – the Long Fangs. Now, there may be other factors to this, yes – but economics plays a part! Fenris just can't make as many plasma cannon or as many heavy bolters as Octalis or Macragge can.'

'But as long as other planets can, surely there's no problem?'

'Yes, but when do we hit that threshold? How many planets do we lose before we aren't wealthy enough even to do this much any more? I mentioned that we're a poor society. Well, we should be even worse off. Feudalism doesn't combine well with modern industry.'

'It doesn't?'

'Not at all, in fact. An industrially-advanced society demands a large population of highly-educated but un-moneyed young workers. People who need to work, but can handle high technology. Whereas feudalism centres on inherited wealth and land-ownership as a reward for military service. Most of our worlds are an odd mix of feudal and industrial. We only get away with it because of a few organisations, like the Adeptus Mechanicus, who exist outside the usual structures. And we pay a severe price for it.'

'Do we?'

She nodded, looking angry. 'Oh yes! The Mechanicus could innovate – but won't. If it did, that might threaten its own economic position.'

'But isn't innovation kind of like change? And isn't that unholy?'

'That's what we tell ourselves,' she muttered darkly. 'That's the lie we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night. Everything's okay because the alternatives are unholy. Well are they now? Or are we just kidding ourselves while we slide quietly into the night? Some of our enemies have no trouble innovating. What happens when the aliens catch up with us?'

Alaster was shocked. That was borderline heresy! 'The Tech-Priests say our civilisation is divinely-inspired. We have found a plateau of holy greatness. No foul xeno could ever challenge it.'

For a moment, just for a moment, his mind wandered back to that conversation with Magos Kelso, while he had been beginning his transformation into an Astartes. He remembered her words about inscriptions on stone and the Ancients. Something about that conversation reminded him of this one. Odd that there should be a resonance. Magos Kelso and Lady Sharrow were two very different people and yet they both seemed to seek out similarly weird ideas.

'The Originists sincerely believe the universe is ten thousand years old,' she said. 'Just because someone says something, it doesn't mean it's right. Mouths can void stupidity as well as wisdom. Suppose the Tech-Priests are wrong? It'd hardly be the first time. Suppose the xenos catch us up – no, worse, exceed us? What then for our holiness? Will moral purity alone stop a Waaagh?'

The fan _whir-clunk_ed once more.

Scowling, she reached into her robe again. The cap of the bottle squeaked once more. Liquid sloshed inside it. Lady Sharrow took another deep draft. She breathed out, a scent of alcohol on her breath. She spoke again, her face tight and lined with anger.

'The Mechanicus remain powerful as long as they hold onto their monopoly of knowledge – much as the corporation stays dominant on Majoris by keeping outsiders at arm's length! Only this leads to stagnation. Hoarding – mindless hoarding! There are Forge Worlds who won't share STCs with each other – because if they did, they might lose their monopoly on whatever the device in question is! Only, if that Forge World falls, then whatever it was they made, it becomes something we lose forever. And as the scarcity of technology bites deeper, the others have even more motive to conceal all the more! Also, with only one world making whatever the item is – well, it means there'll never be quite enough of them. Prices will always remain high, making lots of money for the Tech-Priests. But it also means that some of the people who need that item, won't get it. And the work they might otherwise have done, won't get done. Some wealth will not be generated. It helps maintain the poverty of our society.

'It's logistics again, Battle-Brother – only the Imperium's are dysfunctional. We're like the climate on Majoris. Everyone with a brain knows there's a problem. But we ignore it and shunt it into the future. Because if we didn't, we might have to accept some pain now. Instead, we'd rather put it off and hope that we're safely dead when the bill finally arrives.'

'Isn't that,' Alaster said, 'what the Corporation is doing on Majoris?'

'Yes,' she said. 'And, from a certain point of view, so is what I'm doing on Minoris.' Her brow wrinkled into tight, angry lines scowling over her face. She reached into her robe and once more, the flask reappeared. She unscrewed the cap and took a longer, harder sip. The liquid sloshed as she thrust the cap back on. Angrily, she said, 'We are all complicit, Brother-Marine. Our downfall is a very equal thing. It's caused by everyone, and everyone will suffer in the end. Truly there is no such thing as innocence. Some days I feel the most any of us can hope for is to be counted amongst the least guilty!'

Kodos walked into the tent. 'Brother-Sergeant Kodos reporting as ordered, my Lord!' He banged his fist on his breastplate and stood to attention.

Lakon looked up from a table covered in paperwork. He returned the salute. 'Brother-Sergeant. It's good to have you back.'

Kodos nodded. 'It's good to be back amongst the Chapter. Majoris was … not somewhere I'd want to go again, I think.'

Lakon lifted an eyebrow. 'Really, Sergeant?' His helmet was sat on the table next to him, holding down a map. They were in the Storm Ravens' current main encampment, some way south of Albatross. The tent flaps stirred in the chilly wind outside. A momentary flutter of the door-flap revealed a dull, cloud-filled sky and a field of watery mud, churned by vehicle tracks. Other tents were distributed across it in neat rows. Chapter serfs and some Storm Ravens were moving back and forth on various errands. The air smelt of the mud and somewhat of rain.

Kodos glanced along the length of the tent they were in. The table was long – Lakon was stood near one of its ends. Chapter serfs were busy all the way down it, collating intelligence data and filing tactical reports. The tent was filled with the chatter of busy people. 'I never thought I'd miss the cold wind here. But there's something creepy about the mugginess on Majoris.'

Lakon nodded. 'I'm aware of its situation. Not a good one.'

Kodos shook his head. 'Frankly, the place is a sick monument to runaway greed. Planets like that are what happens when people choose profit over piety.'

Lakon nodded. 'Wise words Brother, and I wish more people would heed them. And oddly apt, given what's happening here.'

Kodos looked wary. 'On the way in – we saw a lot of smoke. A lot more than yesterday. And the Inquisitor disappeared as soon as we got back to the Palace. She looked – well, she looked like an ice cube carved in hell, but a worried ice cube. And she was doing the creepy-talk routine again, all the way in. What's going on?'

Lakon picked up a slate and brandished it. 'You should see the news. The banking system's collapsed.'

Kodos's metallic eye glinted sardonically. 'Some people would say that greed is its own reward.'

'Not the people who can't feed themselves anymore,' Lakon said. 'And unfortunately, that's basically every human being still alive on the planet.'

Kodos was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'That bad?'

'When I said collapse, I wasn't exaggerating. The stock market opened yesterday, just a few hours after Lady Sharrow's announcement. Two hours later and there were traders sat on the pavement outside, sobbing. They'd been wiped out. Basically any investment related to anything physical on this planet … well, it's now completely worthless. Also apparently half the work force didn't bother showing up to work today either.'

'Lazy skakkers,' Kodos growled.

Lakon sighed. 'I agree but on one level you can't really blame them, either. The sky's falling, the world will burn. Your savings have just evaporated and your mortgage is in default. The small silver lining is that the bank aren't going to take your house, because there's just no point. They can't do anything with it in fifty-three days. With a setup like that, why bother with work anymore? Problem is, everyone else is in the same boat. We're into day one of a major subsistence crisis – food isn't reaching the cities. There are blackouts everywhere, basic utilities are down. Power generation's gone off the deep end. They've having to put the municipal plasma reactors into safe mode because there aren't the staff to run them.'

'Skak,' Kodos said. 'And the smoke?'

'Riots, I guess,' Lakon said. 'There are reports of unrest everywhere. People are smashing stores and stealing anything that isn't bolted down. Food in particular.' He gestured at the papers on the desk. 'And in the last day, three more separatist groups have declared themselves!'

'What?' Kodos looked baffled. 'How? What have they got to offer?'

The wind sighed behind them. The tent-flaps swirled, letting in a gust of cold air. It swirled over the table. Papers rustled as the wind touched them.

'Hope,' Lakon said. 'Something that's in terminal short supply here. People are desperate. They'll buy anything if they're told it firmly enough. The groups all have something in common. They all plan to grab the capital. Apparently they think they can use Albatross's air defences to shoot down the fleet. And stop the Exterminatus.'

Kodos stared. 'One, that's treason. And two, that's militarily-illiterate. The air defence guns are exactly that – they can't fire into low orbit, let alone where the fleet is!'

Lakon nodded. 'You're right, but the people here are hopeless. Desperation is a powerful force. In a way we're lucky so far.'

'How?' Kodos asked. 'What form can luck possibly take here?'

'These heresies are all secular ones,' Lakon said. 'There's no evidence – yet – of the Great Enemy. But if there is any taint on this world, I imagine we'll see it's face within the next fifty-three days.'

Kodos looked pained. He opened one of his palms and balled his other hand into a fist. He smacked them together. The ceramite plates grated against each other. 'This is skakking ridiculous! It just goes from bad to worse!' Outside, a Rhino rumbled past. Its engine growled and mud squelched under its tracks. 'Dare I even ask what this means for strategy?'

'We're pulling back,' Lakon explained. 'Previously we'd been trying to hold a cordon at ten degrees north, in the tropical belts. Where the pass is. Only now there's just no point trying to hold it. There's no reason to waste lives on empty lands – Lady Sharrow is right about that. But of course pulling the cordon means the Nids will be able to expand again.'

'Are they?' Kodos asked.

Lakon nodded. 'Not much yet – but yes. We're expecting the next couple of weeks to be relatively quiet. It will take them some time to recover from what we did at the dam. But they've got the whole biomass of the southern hemisphere to chomp on now. And Bugs sprout fast. We can't assume it'll stay quiet much beyond that. We've already seen a few small sorties north of the mountains. Just the odd probe here and there. But it's obvious where they'll go next.'

'North,' Kodos said.

'North,' Lakon agreed. 'When they do, our job is simple enough. Slow their advance. That's it. All we need to do is delay the Nids outside a town until it's empty.' A bitter grin crossed his face. 'It's not like we even need to worry about them gaining much biomass from each town. The rioters are doing a good job of burning them to ash!'

'Skak,' Kodos said. 'That really needs controlling.'

Lakon nodded. 'That's the Inquisitor's next job. Let's hope she's up to it.' He looked at Kodos. He stood back, straightening up. He picked up his helmet and turned it over in his gauntleted hands. The light played over the scratched and scuffed paintwork. 'The Inquisitor. And the operation on Majoris. How did it go?'

'The skakker deCopelberg is dead,' Kodos said bluntly. 'I had a look at the news on the way back. His son lost the final election – by a huge margin. And his replacement has said he'll work with the Imperial authorities. I think they've twigged that bringing down the wrath of the Inquisition isn't a good plan down there.'

'Well that sounds positive.'

'The operation itself was a skakking mess, though.'

'Really?'

Kodos nodded. 'Someone in Lady Sharrow's staff is leaking. They were warned off before we even got there. In hindsight it was obvious – they intercepted us very quickly once we came out of the Storm. A bit too quickly, I think now. Someone knew at least part of the plan.'

'They didn't realise they were up against Astartes, though.'

'No, and I'm skakking glad they didn't. The reception we got was nasty enough. Combat servitors – really high-grade ones. Disguised as serving staff. They had social-behaviour simulator modules implanted in with all the explosive stuff. If you weren't paying attention, you'd think they were human.'

'Unless you cornered one and tried to hold a conversation with it,' Lakon observed.

'Yes, but what good Corporate aristo actually _talks_ to the hired help? As long as it's limited to "You! Boy! Fetch me another drink!", they'd pass.'

'Any casualties?'

Kodos shook his head. 'Thank the Emperor, no. Losing a brother on that would've been skakking ridiculous. We didn't take any injuries, either. I've had to put some of the jump packs in for servicing though.'

'What happened?'

'Karo, Nasty and Patreus got jumped by an exploding servitor. They got blown into the pool. Lots of hot shrapnel and cooler water, all blown into the fan assemblies. Not really good for them! Oh, and Karo needs a paint job. I've sent him off to get his suit re-sprayed. The blast basically sanded all the front paint off.'

'Sounds bad,' Lakon said.

'Frankly, it could have been a lot worse. If they'd been stood much closer, we wouldn't be looking at paintjobs, we'd be looking at three coffins. That was a vicious bomb.'

'And there was no suspicion that the hotel had these exploding servitors?'

'None at all. And that's another problem. The intell we had for this operation was absolutely skakky. deCopelberg and his friends also had some sort of energy shield with them – we had no idea about that either! It nearly screwed us. We had to go and blow the transformer to shut it down.' With bleak humour, Kodos added, 'I doubt the Caparis Municipal SubDepartment are very happy with us right now! We've just put a few thousand on their maintenance bill.'

Lakon shrugged. 'I can live with their displeasure.'

'Me too.'

'Dare I say it…' Lakon glanced around. The hubbub of conversation surrounded them. Someone squelched past outside. The wind moaned in the distance. Lakon lowered his voice. Ordinary ears would have trouble picking out what he was saying, even at close range. 'How was the Inquisitor?'

Also speaking quietly, Kodos said, 'You've had concerns too?'

Lakon nodded. 'I've noticed that flask.'

'That's not a good sign, is it?'

The captain shook his head. 'She's feeling the strain. Rumour has it whatever's in there is good enough to sterilise an operating theatre.'

Kodos nodded. 'I got a good whiff of it several times on our trip. It smelt damn potent. And…' He hesitated.

'And what?'

'It's kind of hard to judge, but she's been acting a bit funny. In private, I mean. On the way in she subjected us to this long rambling story. And on the way back she was giving Karo the full creepy-talk routine. Some of it – well, if anyone else spoke like that, it'd border on heresy!'

'And Brother Alaster? Did it seem to affect him in any way?'

'Karo's a smart lad, and a Raven besides. He won't let it get to him. But I was glad the more impressionable squad members weren't there.'

'You mean Brother Patreus, don't you?'

'And Nasty, to a point. Eorvan's an experienced brother. He's met Inquisitors before and he can manage the mind-screw thing they do. But as for those two, well, they're good lads in their own way, but you don't always know how they'll react.' Kodos paused, then added, 'I keep half-expecting Nasty to come back dragging a sack of loot with him sometimes. And as for Patreus, well, he's very religious. And that's good, obviously, but…' Kodos shrugged.

Lakon nodded. 'A Space Marine has to be aware of the world. And that means he has to be worldly enough to handle it. I know what you mean, Sergeant. But bear in mind that your squad will have to face these sorts of things eventually.'

'Yes but they shouldn't have to now,' Kodos said. 'They've been Space Marines what? A year? If that? Damn it, many of the Guardsmen we've met are older than they are!'

Lakon looked around, then back at Kodos. 'So Lady Sharrow is – shall we say there are signs of problems?'

Kodos nodded. 'Oh yes. She kept it together in public, thank the Emperor – but I don't like where the drinking is going. She needed more – visibly more – on the way back then she did on the way in.'

'It's becoming a crutch,' Lakon agreed. 'Not good, not right now. I think we need to make sure there are responsible people nearby, at all times.'

'Space Marines, you mean,' Kodos said.

'Yes,' Lakon agreed. 'I've put it to the Raven Lord, and he's put the idea to the other Chapters. On this we're all agreed. We need to make sure there's at least a squad or so on hand at all times.'

'So when the breakdown happens…?'

'We just drag her into a backroom and try and scare the witnesses into staying quiet,' Lakon said. 'It won't be a permanent solution, but it'll buy us some time. We'll be rotating the squads pretty regularly – we don't want her to realise she's being watched!'

'Who watches the watchers,' Kodos remarked.

'Apparently, Astartes do,' Lakon sighed. 'And frankly it's something we could do without. But if the Inquisitor herself caves in on us – and the Emperor forbid the breakdown happens publically! – then this whole situation melts down.'

'I take it you're telling me this,' Kodos said, 'because we're going to be one of those squads?'

Lakon nodded. 'We're sticking to brothers who've worked closely with her. Enough to know what to watch out for.'

Kodos sighed. 'Okay. But I don't promise to enjoy this.'

'I have some better news for you,' Lakon said.

'Do you?'

'How would you feel about an honest fight?'

'After all these skakking assassinations and all this skakking plotting? Skak yes!'

Lakon smiled slightly. 'Good. I thought you might say that.' He reached over and dragged a map over. He pointed to a location on it. A town was marked, along one of the monorail lines. It was some way south – rather close, in fact, to the former ten degree line. 'This is Slenisford. In happier times it was the biggest town along the River Slenis. Now it will be the first place to be emptied – tomorrow afternoon, in fact.'

'I see. It's pretty far south,' Kodos said.

'Yes. And it looks like some sort of Bug attack is imminent. I mentioned the sorties we've seen. Well most of them have been in this area. And this morning it got overflown by Gargoyles. They didn't go very far in, but they were some way up. They'd have got a good look at the town. The hive mind's obviously sizing it up. And sure enough, satellite reports suggest movement south of the town.'

'It only needs to be held until tomorrow afternoon?'

Lakon nodded. 'The last train leaves at 1530 hours, standard time. I'm sending down a force from our company. Two Assault squads. Two Tactical squads and two Devastators. And myself, Librarian Kaylos and Chaplain Fellack, to command it all.'

'Six full squads.' Kodos lifted an eyebrow. 'That's a lot of marines for one small town.'

'Yes – but let's see if we can give the Bugs a skakking good kicking,' Lakon said. 'They've driven us to this and I think we're due some revenge. And if we kick them hard enough here, it'll slow them down in the future.'

'The objective?' Kodos asked.

'It's two-fold. Keep the station open until 1530, and cover the train as it leaves. Nice and simple. And while we're at it, kill as many xenos as we can.'

'I like the sound of that.'

'I've picked one of the assault squads, but the second slot is still free. Do you want it?'

'Skak yes! Let me just find out how Karo's paint job is going…'


	45. Chapter 45 A Wait At The Station

'What a skakking mess!' Nasty said.

The marines were sat on top of a Storm Ravens Rhino as it drove through Alabtross. Nasty was, Alaster had to agree, right.

The city was falling apart around them. None of the lights were on in the buildings nearby. The municipal power company still hadn't got its act together. The power cut had started shortly after Lady Sharrow's disastrous speech. Half the employees were still nowhere to be found. Alaster suspected they were probably slumped stone-drunk in some pub somewhere.

It was broad daylight, or as day-lit as it ever got under the omnipresent cloud. A cold wind was blowing from the south. The Rhino's engines rumbled under them. Alaster could feel the vibrations as the tracks rolled inexorably forward. The air smelt of misery and smoke.

Smoke. Thick, black plumes of it were rising everywhere behind the buildings around them. There had been fires before they left, but now it looked like half the city was burning. Carried on the wind were the sounds of shouting, screaming and glass shattering. Yet another riot was in progress somewhere. The city's descent into anarchy had been savage in its speed. Even just a couple of days ago a fragile civil order had persisted, in spite of everything that had happened before. Any pretence of civility or calmness had finally sunk beneath the waves of the Inquisitor's world-shattering news.

Sullen eyes stared back at them from the streets, hopeless and accusatory. The streets were busy. Ragged-looking people had poured out of the apartment blocks and houses when the lights had gone off. Improvised braziers were scattered along the pavement, huddles of people clustered around them. Flames licked up from barbecues and garbage cans, hastily re-purposed now that no-one had working heating. Anything that could be burned was heaped onto them.

Alaster glanced back at the plumes of smoke rising over the dying city. Now that he thought about it, he wondered how many of them were deliberate arson and how many were just accidents caused by cold people trying to burn things for warmth. The wind moaned over them. Alaster was glad of his armour. It was very cold here. The chill and the urban desolation made a sharp contrast from the muggy warmth and frenetic industry of the sister planet.

As well as hopelessness, there was a simmering anger hanging over the street. Alaster could feel it. The marines were out on patrol to contain the violence – that was the official version. Alaster suspected the real reason they were here was just to remind the people that Imperial order still existed amidst the chaos. It was why they were sat here on the open top of the Rhino, not safely inside. A show of force. He wasn't sure it was working so well. Many of those eyes that stared back at them had hidden fury in their depths. He could almost imagine their thoughts as they looked at the passing Space Marines, he could almost imagine them thinking about their supposed protectors' failure. It's your fault, the eyes seemed to say. You should have fought harder. You should have done more to help us. What use are you otherwise?

What use were they indeed, Alaster wondered. He understood the Inquisitor's logic. He understood why this was being done. He understood that, bizarre as it was, it was even in the Minorians' own interest. Evacuating them to Majoris had to be better then allowing them to be exterminated under a tide of Bug filth. But at the same time, he had an unwelcome sense of failure. He knew it was at least partly his training speaking. They were Space Marines. Astartes don't cut and run. First into the fight and last out, that was their creed. Was there more they could have done, he had to wonder. And if they had failed on this world, then perhaps it should be their duty to make a stand here, even if it cost them their lives?

He thought of that woman at the spaceport on Gamma, all those long months ago. The Originist pendant hung around her neck, the Imperial eagle protectively clutching the sacred double helix. He'd always assumed they were just bad losers, sore at being passed over in the Selection, or just stupid and misguided heretics. But what if she'd once stood somewhere like this, seen the mighty Space Marines fail?

His own doubts did nothing to reduce the sense of bubbling frustration from the streets around them. The Ravens weren't respected here. They weren't even feared. They might be resented, though.

They all felt it. Nasty was brandishing his axe. Patreus's helmet kept turning as he surveyed their surrounds. He had his hands on his bolt pistol and his chainsword.

'This is shocking,' Patreus said. 'How did this happen?'

'Stupidity,' Nasty said darkly.

'Bad planning,' Alaster said. 'The Inquisitor is up at the Palace. Apparently she's been carrying a letter of credit from the Inquisition. She's going to use it to secure all debts.'

'What good is that?' Nasty asked.

'It might bring back the financial system,' Alaster said. 'And these people might be able to get back to work.'

'You're assuming they want to,' Nasty said cynically.

'Lady Sharrow won't let them sit around,' Alaster said. 'I think we can be sure of that.'

'Idleness isn't holy,' Patreus noted.

Their earphones crackled. 'This is Kodos,' the sergeant said to them. 'Where the skak are you lot?'

From inside the Rhino, Eorvan answered. 'Just near the junction of Eagle Street and Temple Street, Sergeant,' he reported.

'Where is that in relation to the spaceport?'

'Twelve clicks south-east,' Eorvan replied.

'Well turn round and drive back. You're want there by the turn of the hour. We're deploying southwards.' Kodos clicked off.

'Yes!' Nasty sounded enthused by the prospect of violence. He jumped to his feet. He landed on the Rhino's plating with a clang. He waved his axe in the air. 'Action!'

'Wait-' Alaster tried to warn Nasty off but it was too late.

There were three young men stood near the edge of the street, next to a garbage bin. Red flames were licking up from it and greasy smoke billowed upwards. Alaster noted that one of the men was missing a hand, the second one had a patch where his left eye should be and the third had a long double scar across his face and a wrecked nose. All of them had hair cut short to military lengths. Ex-Guardsmen, Alaster realised, presumably demobilised from injury. They were wearing tattered and dirty camouflage jackets, with slightly cleaner bits where the unit insignia would have gone. As well as injured, they all looked hungry and angry.

And they were looking at the apparently-uninjured Space Marines sat safely on top of a Rhino with pure hate.

'What is it?' Patreus asked.

'Those three, near the junction,' Alaster said. 'Something's about to happen. Nasty, sit down!'

They'd noticed Nasty's posing.

It seemed this was just too much for one of them. A fist-sized rock sailed through the air. It clanged off the side of the Rhino.

'What was that?' Eorvan's voice crackled in their ears.

'Trouble,' Alaster said. 'Can you get us out of here?' He felt tense and angry. There was a sick sense of anticipation hanging over him. This wasn't going anywhere good. He breathed deeply, tasting the familiar faint scent of rubber and metal inside his helmet.

'Working on it – wait, what's that? People, up ahead!'

The junction was a few metres ahead of them. A stream of people was flooding out of one of the buildings. They had visible injuries, like the men on the corner. They were walking onto the street in front of the Rhino. A mass of human beings was forming. All of them were visibly armed. They had planks of wood and iron bars. Disassembled bed-frames, Alaster suspected.

'Skak,' Alaster said. 'That building – it must be a recuperation ward! And they're all demobbed Guard.'

'They're angry,' Patreus said, sounding confused. 'Look at the their faces. They're angry with us – but why?'

'They're all injured,' Alaster said. 'And we're not.'

'That's not true!' Sandrer said from inside the Rhino, his voice crackling in the earphones. 'We've all taken wounds here!'

'Yeah but they don't know that,' Fegust put in. 'Do they?'

'They should know better,' Eorvan growled. 'None of them would still be alive if we hadn't covered for their piss-poor fighting.'

Another rock clanged off the side of the Rhino.

With a sick feeling of frustration, Alaster slid the safety off of his bolt pistol.

The Rhino was sat in the middle of the street. Up ahead, a menacing crowd of men had formed. The welcoming committee by the burning dustbin glared belligerently at the Rhino. The wind moaned amongst the apartment blocks around them. Some dead leaves skittered along the pavement in the breeze. Faces had appeared at the windows overhead. People were watching. An audience was melting out of the woodwork.

Half a brick sailed narrowly past Nasty's shoulder.

'Hey!' Nasty said. He sounded angry. 'Which skakker did that? I'll tear his head off!'

It was clear that it had been aimed to miss. But only by a fraction. The implication was clear that the next one wouldn't.

'Wait.' Alaster had an idea. Without further thought, he jumped down from the side of the Rhino. He thudded onto the ground. He flexed his knees as he landed on the dirty tarmac.

'What's going on?' Kodos's voice asked.

'The natives are restless, Brother-Sergeant,' Eorvan said. 'We're having a little difficulty with the wildlife. Karo's gone to do something – what are you doing, Brother?'

'Trying to talk to them,' Alaster said. 'Let's not make this any worse.'

He was afraid that Nasty might do something precipitous. Or maybe even Patreus. Alaster could imagine him seeing this as impiety – and there was nothing ot offend Patreus's sense of religious honour so much as impiety.

But Alaster really didn't want to kill this people.

He looked at their damaged bodies and furious eyes. They'd suffered a lot in the name of their Emperor. Did they really have to add more to that butcher's bill?

Alaster walked up to the three on the corner.

They were surprised by his approach. They clearly hadn't expected any of the marines to dismount. Startled eyes focused on him and stances shifted. A moment later and Alaster was stood in front of them. They were on the curb and he was on the tarmac. But even though their feet were a couple of inches higher, he still towered over them.

'What is this about?' Alaster asked. 'Why are you blocking our way?' He waved his chainsword at the blocking crowd. 'We should be about our duty, not sat here on a street corner.'

'What do you know of duty?' one of them sneered. It was the handless man.

Alaster sent a command through his Black Carapace. The cameras in his eyelenses started recording. If the worst came to the worst … Alaster wanted a record to prove that he didn't shoot first.

'We are Imperial Space Marines,' he reminded the man. 'We are on our way to fight. Why are your friends over there in our way?'

The one-eyed man answered this time. 'Fine words,' he said, hate written over his face. 'Fine words from a mutant.'

The insult was so extreme that it didn't even register for a second. Alaster honestly thought for a moment that the man must have been speaking to someone else. But no – the man's one eye was staring belligerently at Alaster.

Then the man spat. The gobbet of phlegm was aimed with precision. The cold and calculating part of Alaster's mind had to give the man credit for that. The little gobbet landed right on the lightning-carrying raven on Alaster's repainted shoulder pad. It splatted right onto the red eye, then dribbled down.

The street became silent. The faces at the windows vanished. Curtains hung still and the mutter of talking from the road-blockers fell quiet. They were all watching the tableau.

The disrespect – it was beyond words! Alaster felt his frustration ignite into a sudden rage. Insulting him was one thing, and not a good one, but then this man dared to attack the honour of his Chapter! Unbidden, some of those lessons in Chapter history flashed through Alaster's mind. The Storm Ravens had served the Imperium for five thousand years – fifty centuries of self-denial and death, all in the name of a distant ideal of an Imperial peace. And this man, this weak and failed Guardsman, dared to question that legacy of blood and service -!

He bit down on the rage, trying to retain some control.

'How dare you,' he ground out. 'How dare you?'

Kodos spoke in his ears. 'Brother Karo – what are they doing? Repeat, what have they done?'

The one-eyed man smiled. 'The Astartes have failed us here,' he said. 'You should have stopped the Bugs – or died trying, like so many of my comrades did. But instead you're here, safe and unhurt, while what's left of the Guard fight on. You disgust me.'

'We were shown the truth,' the handless man said. 'The man – he came to us. He showed us the corruption of the Astartes. He showed us the truth – the truth of the Emperor!' The man reached out with his remaining hand and pulled the ragged sleeve up on his damaged arm. It revealed a tattoo near his shoulder – a fresh, new tattoo.

An eagle, clutching a double helix.

This was just enough to penetrate Alaster's rage. 'You're Originists!' For a moment, he was stupefied by the revelation. 'What are you scum doing here?'

Had they been followed from Octalis?

Then, suddenly, he remembered. The man at the outpost in the Hydra Delta. The traitor who had murdered a Raven, and who had left the aspirants to die when the Tyranids landed. He'd been here, on Minoris, for some time before. Had he preached, held secret sermons with the angry and the dissatisfied? Had he travelled with the army, spreading his poison in its wake?

There could be no other explanation, Alaster thought.

Eyeless man moved. In a flash he was holding a gun – a silly little pistol, the sort of sport gun you could pick up at a store for twenty crowns.

'Today,' he said, smiling with a fanatical gleam in his eye and a sick gloat wrapped over his face, 'today we purge the mutant!'

Sound returned to the street. The crowd blocking the street started chanting. It resonated amongst the buildings.

'Purge! PURGE! PURGE!'

'All right everyone,' Eorvan said, 'get ready to fight. Sandrer, Fegust, get in place behind the Rhino doors. Nasty, Patreus, get ready to jump off.'

Alaster looked into the maddened, hate-filled eyes in front of him. Furious as he felt, he reminded himself that these people were now civilians and amongst those the Ravens were sworn to protect. These people might hold a sick, hate-filled ideology but they'd been lied to and tricked by an evil man. They were as much the victim as the villain. It would be wrong, Alaster reminded himself, to condemn their souls to the Emperor's judgement without giving them one last chance at redemption.

'Put that silly little gun down,' he said, 'and back off. Do you actually think it's going to do any damage?' Strictly, that was a bluff. One of the first lessons in Alaster's training was that any gun could do damage, no matter how pathetic it looked. It just had to find the right spot.

Assuming any of these men could find one of the right spots, of course…

'Anything to kill one of you scum!' the man growled. However, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, one that hadn't been there a while ago. Just for a moment, Alaster allowed himself to hope – had he managed to get through to these people?

'That's hardly likely,' Alaster said. 'If anyone dies here today, it won't be me. Now stop this silliness and stand down, for all our sakes.'

'No.' It seemed demeaning the man's defiance had been the wrong strategy. Alaster realised his mistake as the eyes lit up with renewed anger. 'No – we're going nowhere!'

'We are the Emperor's warriors,' Alaster said, 'and you are trying our patience. You have placed yourself in the way of His Will. Stand down, damn you! Go back to your homes and end this foolishness.'

'No,' the man with the eyepatch said.

'You have disrespected me and by extension, you have disrespected Imperial authority,' Alaster told him. Maybe there was one last peaceful way out of this – he had to try it. 'That can not be tolerated. You are under arrest-' He reached out to grab the man's wrist.

The man snapped the pistol up. The little barrel stared right at Alaster. A finger tightened on a trigger.

The man fired.

The muzzle flashed, there was a bang and puff of smoke leapt out.

The man fired at point blank range and of course he didn't miss. But the tiny round pinged pathetically off Alaster's breastplate. It barely even scratched the new layer of paint. It landed with a tinkle in the gutter, bent out shape by the impact.

'I heard gunfire,' Kodos's voice said. 'What the skak is going on? Report, damn you?'

'A heretic just did something stupid, Sergeant,' Alaster said. His voice grated with anger. After all they'd risked on this world, all they'd done – to be treated like this was an outrage!

'I'm accessing your feed now,' Kodos said. There was a momentary pause. 'Oh, they shot at you, did they? I see. One insult too many. Enough talking. Kill them, Brothers.'

The dumb heretic brought up his gun again.

Alaster's chainsword flashed through the air. He slammed the blade down in a sharp arc. The teeth whirred. With a jarring impact they met flesh, and then the teeth howled. The blade ripped through the man's arm. Bone and sinew was shredded. Blood sprayed out. The severed arm flopped to the gutter. For a moment, the idiot heretic Originist stared in incomprehension at his wrecked limb.

He looked up just in time for Alaster to slam the chainsword into his face.

The toothed blade ripped into his skull. Brain and fragments of bone spurted out. A corpse toppled to the ground.

The other two leapt at Alaster.

Eorvan spoke. 'Nasty, Patreus – on the ground! Now!' There were thuds as the two marines jumped down. 'Fegust, Sandrer – out now!'

The crowd up the street surged toward the Rhino. A hail of bricks and stone sailed through the air. It sounded like a heavy rain, clanging off the plating.

The Rhino's back ramp dropped and two Storm Ravens sprang out. They landed and shots rang out from their pistols. As soon as they were down the ramp pulled up again. Its motor whirred as it rose.

One of the heretics grabbed at Alaster's backpack. He wrapped a hand around one of the vents. He'd hauled himself up and was beating futily at the marine's helmet with his fist. But he'd forgotten something. The man had raised himself up. As he thrashed around, his crotch was almost level with Alaster's bolt pistol.

With a brutal sweep of his hand, Alaster slammed it into the man's privates. The man squealed in agony. There was a crunch as something in the man's pelvis broke. Alaster shook himself, dislodging the squealing Originist. The man flopped to the ground.

Alaster shot him once, neatly in the chest. The man's eyes went glassy. He was dead.

A shadow loomed over Alaster's shoulder. Then the plank of wood slammed into him. The remaining Originist had a weapon, a board he'd grabbed from the pile by the fire. He wielded it with a strength borne from unreasoning hate – Alaster actually staggered under the blow.

Still, it did him no actual harm. It just annoyed him further.

He pivoted himself around on one foot, sweeping his chainsword in a high arc. It met the swinging board and tore through it. Splinters of wood sprayed into the air. Half of the board flopped to the ground. Abruptly unbalanced, the Originist tottered for a moment. He managed to stagger to the side, just avoiding a fall.

Alaster turned and faced the Originist. Just for a second, Space Marine and heretic stared straight at each other. Then the man threw himself at Alaster.

He reached out as he tumbled forward, clawing his fingers at the Raven. At the last instant, Alaster sidestepped. The man, committed to his dive, flopped to the ground next to him.

Alaster shot the man in the back of the head. The bolr pistol boomed. The weak human skull crunched and broke. Blood and brains spewed out.

Eight seconds had passed since the fight had begun.

Alaster turned. In front of the Rhino a general melee was in progress. Already the ground was littered with broken and torn Originist bodies. Ex-Guard they may be, but they were also weakened by their injuries. And they had stupidly decided to attack Space Marines. It was proving to be the last, fatal mistake of their misbegotten lives. Alaster's brothers had things well in hand.

Alaster looked around. Another surge of angry fools was coming down the steps from the building. That could complicate things. The other marines were all busy in close combat. It didn't look like they'd seen the second wave yet.

Alaster looked up. There was a pintle-mounted storm bolter on the Rhino.

As soon as the idea occurred, he sprung into life. Moments later he was on top of the Rhino. He landed on the roof with a thump.

'What was that?' Eorvan demanded.

'Me, Brother-Corporal,' Alaster reported. 'I'm giving the others fire support.'

He dropped down in front of the bolter, lying on his stomach. He put his hands on the gun's grips. The tide of new heretics was approaching the main melee. Alaster sighted the storm bolter and pulled the trigger.

It thundered into life, raining a hail of bolts down on the heretics.

Alaster swept it back and forth, methodically mowing down the would-be attackers. The storm bolter roared its rage, a deafening, repeating staccato bellow. The grip rumbled in Alaster's hands. Wherever the gun spoke, bodies twitched and fell. Blood spurted from fresh holes and startled eyes fell dead. Wiping the heretics out took only moments. Where there had been an approaching horde, there was now a wide puddle of body-fluids and torn viscera. Twisted bodies were strewn amongst it. The air stank of blood, excrement and the metallic scent of the friction-heated gun barrels.

The melee was dying in front of the Rhino, just like the last of its participants. As Alaster watched, Patreus, Nasty, Fegust and Sandrer butchered the remaining heretics. The roar of bolt pistols fell quiet and the whirr of chainswords subsided into silence.

Two minutes and forty-seven seconds had passed since the first shot was fired.

'Okay, what's happened?' Kodos asked.

Alaster looked at the carnage splattered across the street. 'Threat neutralised, Sergeant,' he said. 'We have no casualties.'

He counted fifty-two bodies. He realised they'd just had to slaughter more than fifty of their own people. He felt hollow. This was a victory, but it was a victory over an unprepared and unequal foe. He saw injuries on the bodies, but some of those injuries had already been there before the shooting. There was no glory here, just blood and glassy eyes. These people had been dead as soon as they'd begun fighting. They'd simply never stood a chance. They'd been like a candle trying to boil an ocean. They'd been swamped and extinguished, with barely even a puff of smoke to mark their end.

The other marines were walking back, their weapons splashed with blood.

People had reappeared at the windows, Alaster noted. He got up to his feet and stood on the Rhino. He turned to face them. Maybe there was one small way something could be rescued from this bloody fiasco.

'This is a world of the Imperium!' he shouted. 'The Emperor's law rules here! These heretics sought to frustrate that law! You have seen what happens to sinners! If you choose the path of treason, your path will lead to death.'

If it sent them back to their homes and back to work … No. He couldn't see it. He just couldn't see anything good coming from this massacre. He looked down. He dug a cloth out of one of his belt pouches and set to wiping the blood from his chainsword's teeth. The sooner the red stain was removed, the better. As he wiped he caught a glimpse of his own reflection on one of the teeth. The ceramite snarl of his helmet glared back at him on the ruddy background. It seemed unsympathetic. The cloth slid over the reflection. It vanished, replaced by the dull shine of the teeth.

Moments later he was done. He balled up the cloth and stuffed it back into the pouch. Without further comment, he scrambled down from the Rhino's roof. The marines filed back inside. The ramp clanged back up, and the Rhino drove off. As it splashed through the carnage of the short battle, it its tracks imprinted in blood behind it.

The Thunderhawk's ramp groaned open. With a noisy gust the wind surged into the compartment. Alaster swayed as he held onto the loop in the wall beside him. Daylight streamed into the compartment through the opening ramp. He checked quickly on his weapons. Chainsword – check. Pistol – check. Knife, check and sheathed at his waist. Grenades – check, two of them hung from his belt.

'Brothers – in the air!' Kodos ordered. 'Set up an aerial perimeter. We guard everyone else while they disembark.'

Alaster released the loop. 'Nasty, Patreus – after me!' He sprinted forward.

'For the Emperor!' Patreus shouted as he followed.

Alaster's boots hammered onto the metal below him. Then there was no more metal. The ramp ended, a thousand feet above the town below. Alaster sprang, sailing out into clear air. Dove-grey clouds swirled above. A few rays of the double-sunlight reached down through gaps, here and there. The weather was as good as it ever got on Minoris now. Not much wind, and temperatures above freezing. Just.

He spread his arms to slow his fall. The gusting air tugged at him as he dropped. A quick glance at his status indicators showed that Patreus and Nasty had followed him. They were in position a second or so behind.

Alaster risked a look down.

A sluggish river wound its through a scene of urban desolation. Below his feet was a gridwork of wrecked streets. It was a jumble of rubble-strewn roads and half-destroyed buildings. Here and there he could see some wooden spars sticking up like broken bones – the remains of roof frames. Lower floors were exposed to the elements and glassless windows stared blindly out from many walls. Cracks and shell-holes were everywhere. The roads were pockmarked with craters. Some of them were flooded where sewers or water mains had been holed. It was hard to believe that anyone still lived in such a wrecked place.

It was also hard to believe how fast it was coming up toward him.

'Time to brake, Brothers,' Alaster said.

His repaired and repainted jump pack thundered to life. He was jerked upwards by the straps. With a lurch his downward momentum was halted. Twin growls around him informed him that Patreus and Nasty had come to a mid-air holt too.

A shadow passed over them. A loud roar rumbled through the air. The Thunderhawk swung past, banking as it turned inwards toward the centre of the dying town. For a moment Alaster saw the bright blue thruster-plumes, and then the wobbling heat-hazed tracks of superheated air they left behind. Then the Thunderhawk was dwindling in front of them, roaring onwards to its destination.

His earphones crackled. It was Kodos. 'Right,' he said, 'everyone's deployed?'

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster reported.

'Yes Sergeant,' he heard Eorvan echo.

'Adequate,' Kodos grudgingly acknowledged. 'I'm glad we can manage that much at least. Right, Stage Two. I'm marking the station on your displays.'

A red, blinking dot appeared in Alaster's vision. It was sat on top of a large building in the middle of the town. The river bent past it, a few hundred yards west. Looking toward the building, Alaster saw a curving, vaulted structure. The frontage was lined with columns and a grand, portico entrance. It was flanked by two thin clocktowers. Or rather, it had been flanked by two clocktowers. Only one of them still stood. The other had been truncated about halfway up. Of the remaining tower, the clockface itself had been damaged. Most of the numbers were gone and one of the hands was missing. The remaining one declared the time to be an eternal four in the afternoon. The actual time was eleven hundred in the morning, according to Alaster's clock.

'That's the station,' Kodos said.

'Skak,' Sandrer said. 'There's not much of it left, is there?'

'Looks like a skakking ruin,' Nasty put in.

'There are a few holes in the roof,' Kodos acknowledged, 'Things've been a bit hot here, before.'

'A bit?' Sandrer asked. 'The place is practically a bombsite!'

'That's probably because it is.' Nasty clearly felt the need for a bit of black humour.

'There's a Nid force,' Eorvan added. 'It's moving up from the south. The Gargoyles were definitely a recce.'

'But the trains are still running,' Kodos said. 'People are still getting out. It's our job to keep it that way, at least until fifteen thirty. After that, it doesn't matter.'

Most important of all were the three silvery tracks that emerged from the back of Slenisford North Station. Against all the odds, the monorail lines had survived. The town had already been fought over, earlier in the war. That was where most of the damage had come from. Of the other stations, Slenisford East was gone, completely destroyed. Two of Slenisford South's lines still existed, but there was no electricity down there. A Bug attack had knocked out the transformers. But not at Slenisford North. Here, they were still operational. The station was on the north side of the city and the previous days of fighting had all been south of the river. The building had taken a few random misaimed shell shots and had been hit by the odd aerial sortie, but it was still functional.

As Alaster watched, he saw the bullet-shape of a train pull out from the station. It quickly picked up speed, then vanished off into the distance, carrying its frightened human cargo to relative safety of the north.

'This is what we do,' Kodos said. 'We move in, and patrol the surrounds of the station. We just keep an eye out. If you see any skirmishers, drop them! Don't get bogged down in a big fight, though. If the ratio's above three-' if the marines were outnumbered more than three to one, he meant '-then pull back and call for backup. We've got two tac squads on the ground – they're there to fight fires, if needed. And then there's the Devastators. One of them will be taking position on the roof of the station. The other will be on top of that office block over there.'

He pointed out a stub of a building near the station. Most of it was missing, but it had a reasonably intact flat roof with some bits of concrete wall for cover.

'The Devastators will give us fire support. If you need it, call for it. If you're not sure, ask me and I'll tell you. Lakon will be on the ground with Fellack and the Librarian. They're here to keep things co-ordinated. They'll be moving between the squads as the fight goes on. But you can call on their skills if you need it. Remember Brothers, there's no shame in asking for help if you need it. We're all in this together.' He paused. 'Right, pep talk over. Time to get on with bringing the storm. First thing to do is get in position at the station…'

A short time after that, the marines were at the station.

Kodos and Nasty went off to check on one of the Devastator squads. Eorvans marines went to check on the others. Alaster and Patreus were designated to keep a watch over the station itself. Nothing was expected just yet, but it didn't hurt to keep an eye out.

The station was sat at the junction of several streets. In front of it was a public square. Two dead fountains sat at the far end. One of them had a big chunk missing from its side, a casualty during the last round of fighting. The other had a couple of bullet-holes and its bowl was full of dust and shrivelled leaves. The dead stumps of some trees emerged from a line of pots along the middle of the square.

Alaster looked down. He was stood on the lowest of the flight of steps running up to the station. The towers and its rather-battered portico were behind him.

'There's a lot of them, isn't there?' Alaster said to Patreus, who was stood next to him.

Alaster gestured to the stream of refugees. They were moving up the steps some way to the side. People were still streaming in from the streets in front of them. Dirty, tired faces and ragged clothes. Some of them didn't even have shoes. A few clutched at battered suitcases. A couple of children had stuffed toys tucked under their arms. One man was reading from an Imperial catechism, open in his palm.

'It's quiet,' Patreus said, his helmet surveying the crowd. Like Alaster, he was gripping his bolt pistol and his chainsword.

'Yes,' Alaster agreed.

It was, actually. The line of people were surprisingly placid. There was no pushing and shoving and no obvious signs of panic. The air was somewhat tense, but hardly hysterical. In fact, if anything, most of the civilians looked more relieved then scared. Alaster supposed they knew they were getting out – presumably feeling like you had an exit made a difference.

At the station entrance Imperial officials were checking them off one by one. After their names were ticked on the officials' slates, families and individuals would disappear into the shadows inside the station. It was strange – people went in, but no-one came back out.

There was a faint rumble. Another train had just started up. It faded away into the distance.

'Makes a change from earlier,' Alaster added. The Ravens were getting the odd look from the crowd. A lot of people were trying to stare without obviously staring. In most cases it didn't work very well. A few of the bolder ones were brave enough to indulge their curiosity and stare straight at the marines. Just for his own amusement, Alaster stared straight back at one of them. The woman looked increasingly worried. He could almost hear the thoughts going through her head. _Is that marine looking at me_? She must be thinking, _Or is he looking at the people next to me?_ Yes – on cue, she actually glanced nervously at the people next to her. Neither of them were looking in his direction.

Alaster kept staring.

The woman twitched nervously and looked down.

'That was mean,' Patreus said.

Alaster looked back. 'Yes, but it was funny. You've got to admit?'

Patreus was silent.

'Come on,' Alaster said. Patreus said nothing. Alaster felt uneasy. 'Is something the matter, Brother?'

'I'm not feeling very funny right now,' Patreus said, sounding uncomfortable.

Alaster took a lucky guess. 'It's what happened earlier, isn't it?'

Patreus's helmet bobbed up and down. 'Yes,' he said. 'I didn't like that much.'

'They did provoke us,' Alaster pointed out. 'And they shot first.' Although saying that, he had to admit that he still wasn't happy himself about what they'd had to do on the way to the spaceport.

Patreus surprised him. 'Oh yes, they deserved death! It's not that. Their behaviour was completely sacrilegious.'

'Then what is it?'

'It's not our job to do the judging,' Patreus said. 'We'll be the executioner if we're ordered to, but it's not for us to pass judgement. They kind of forced us to. I'm not happy about that. It's not our place. I almost feel like I've sinned.'

Inside his helmet, Alaster stared. Patreus's faith was a far deeper and more sincere thing then his own but it could manifest in some very odd ways. Patreus seemed to be more concerned about taking on authority then he had been about killing a load of people.

'When we went after the Loser governor,' Alaster said, 'you were concerned about the killing then.'

'No I wasn't,' Patreus said hotly. 'It's the same thing, then and now. I felt like I was being made to take on an authority that isn't mine. I'm a servant, not a leader. And anyway, you settled my doubts that time.'

Alaster wasn't so sure that he'd settled his own, though.

'A question of faith for you,' Alaster said suddenly.

'Go on.' Patreus sounded surprised about being consulted.

'How close can you get to something before it becomes heresy?' Alaster said. 'Do you have to say it? Or can you think it? Is even that too much?' It was sometimes said that the blackest crimes of all were those that occurred, unseen and unpunished, within the privacy of the human skull. 'Or even if it's just a vague feeling? Does that count?'

'I…' Patreus trailed off, confused. 'Is there something a bit more specific, Brother?'

'I'm not bothered about the authority thing from earlier,' Alaster said. 'But I am about the killing. Were we really in the right? All they did was be rude to us, when you get down to it. Maybe the crowd would have broken, if we'd just rolled the Rhino forwards. Maybe a shot into the air would have sent them running. I mean, they're our people! The ones we're sworn to defend. Instead we ended up gunning them down.'

Patreus was quiet for a moment. Then he said, 'If nothing else they were guilty of criminal stupidity. I mean, being rude to Space Marines is a bit dumb. And there are other Chapters who would have done far more, Brother. We only went for the ones who challenged us. If we were the Flesh Tearers, that street wouldn't still be standing, you know.'

'Probably nor would the city,' Alaster agreed. 'But do other peoples' misdeeds absolve our own? I mean, surely that's like saying that spouting heresy is just fine because someone over there-' Alaster waved his bolt pistol vaguely at the distance '-is saying something much worse. You see what I mean?'

Patreus thought about it. 'We're Space Marines,' he said. 'Violence is what we're for. People can't expect us not to fight, you know. And they should know that. And I don't think the Imperium regards other Chapters as guilty of misdeeds, as you put it. Just the odd unfortunate lapse.'

It popped out before Alaster had a chance to think twice about it. 'And I wonder,' he heard himself say, 'how many little _unfortunate lapses _the Traitor Legions had, before they finally fell?'

Patreus sounded shocked. 'Brother! That's a dreadful thing to say!'

'You do have to wonder, though,' Alaster said. It was said now. In a way, he was relieved. The black idea was out in the open. No point trying to cover up for it. 'We're Astartes. We have a lot of power. We have to hold ourselves to high standards – if we don't, we won't be the ones who pay the price! That's what's been bothering me since this morning. How many lapses can we go before we tip over?'

'Well we haven't,' Patreus said to him. 'So no problem. But anyway, even if we did err somewhat, we still haven't as much as some. As I said, the Flesh Tearers-'

'So they've become the new measuring-stick, have they?' Alaster said cynically. 'As long as our unfortunate-bystander bodycount is lower, we're in the clear, right?'

Patreus shook his head. 'You're not normally this sour, Brother.'

'Umm, excuse me?'

A new voice spoke.

Alaster almost jumped. He'd been so focused on his conversation with Patreus that he hadn't noticed the approach of the three civilians.

They were stood a couple of yards back, between Alaster and the line. The three all looked nervous. Their spokesman, a young man in his early twenties, looked particularly nervous. The other two were girls, Alaster noticed. About the same age range as the man. He guessed this was some sort of dare. One of the girls was holding a camera in one hand and the man's hand in the other. She was stood just behind him. His girlfriend, Alaster supposed. In an abstract sort of way he noticed she was quite pretty. Though he did wonder where she'd managed to find lemon-blond hair dye in the ruins of Slenisford – surely that shade couldn't be natural?

'Yes?' he said. He reminded himself not to wave his blade around. The civilians were eyeing it with evident unease.

The man clearly hadn't expected to get a reply. 'Uh,' he stammered, 'w-would you mind if-if we took a photo?' One of the girls stepped forward, brandishing a camera.

For a moment Alaster's brain was short-circuited by the unexpected request. He was stood here fully armed, in a half-ruined city, with hazy sunlight leaking down through the mottled grey cloud and watching vigilantly over the damaged streets – and this person wanted a photo? It took a second or two, but he managed to catch up with the unexpected request.

He burst out laughing.

The three looked terrified. The designated speaker's knees wobbled.

When Alaster finally managed to get a decent breath of air back through all three lungs, he looked up again. 'Okay,' he said, 'why not? You can have a couple, so your friend can get in shot as well.'

The main speaker looked thunderstruck. 'You – you'll do it?'

Alaster shrugged. 'Why not? I guess there's no harm in it. Patreus, get over here!'

The marines lined up on the step in front of the three. People in the line were staring. Even the officials at the station entrance were looking up from their task. This was a pretty unique spectacle.

The first two of the three positioned themselves in front of Alaster and Patreus. The girl with the camera lined up to take a shot, then stared at the screen, looking annoyed. 'I'm going to step back,' she said. Glancing up at Patreus and Alaster, she added with a sudden streak of boldness, 'You're big!'

She hurriedly stepped back.

The young man was in front of Alaster. His empty right hand opened and closed with a nervous clutch. An idea sprang into Alaster's mind. It was possibly a bit mean, but they wanted a photo, so why not? He could give them one to remember.

'Here, hold this,' he said. He pushed his chainsword into the man's startled hand. 'This is the grip – wrap your hand around it. Don't touch that stud there – it makes the blade spin. Have to be careful with that, it goes right through bone!'

The young man found himself holding an Astartes chainsword. It was almost as big as he was. It wobbled in his hand. 'Skak, that's heavy!' he said.

'Steady,' Alaster said, putting a hand on the man's wrist to stabilise it. It wouldn't do to have him accidentally lop something off himself, after all. Like his head, for instance. With Alaster's hand supporting the wrist, the wobble stopped. The man stared at the blade like he thought it was going to bite him. The watery sunlight played on the teeth. Alaster thanked the Emperor that he'd performed the Rite of Cleaning properly – if the young man knew what had been all over that sword earlier, he'd probably have passed out!

The girl was watching all of this with a bemused expression.

'About ready,' she said.

'Okay,' Alaster said. 'Smile, everyone.'

The camera clicked.

The girl lowered it and looked at the screen. 'Okay,' she said, 'looks like a good shot. Now if we just-'

'Hey,' Patreus said, 'what's that?'

He pointed.

Alaster looked up. There was a speck, moving through the sky. He opened his mouth to say it was a bird. But then something struck him. He hadn't seen any birds here. Not a one. And there was no birdsong in the air.

And he could hear a faint whistling.

It was getting louder.

And the speck was getting bigger. Not moving side to side, but getting bigger.

'Oh skak,' he said. 'That's a missile. Heading this way.' He looked at line of people. He turned up the volume on his helmet speakers. 'All of you – get into the station! Go! Now!' He jabbed his free hand at the growing speck.

People stared in confusion for a moment, then they moved. The line surged forward, toward the cover of the station.

'Uh…' the young man in front of Alaster began.

Thinking quickly, Alaster grabbed his shoulder. 'Come on you lot – with us!'

He started moving, pulling the confused man after him. Patreus was moving the girls along. They stumbled up the stairs toward the portico.

People were streaming into the lobby of the station. Alaster could see them up ahead. It was still surprisingly orderly. Feet slapped on the stone risers and confused voices babbled.

They had a few more stairs to go. The marines could have made it on their own but their human charges were slower. Alaster didn't want to abandon them. They laboured toward the door.

He looked up. The speck wasn't a speck anymore. It was too close now. They didn't have enough time! Its shadow swept over one of the fountains.

Skak.

'Patreus!' Alaster shouted. 'Now!'

Patreus seemed to guess what Alaster meant. He grabbed the two girls and shoved them, hard, to one side. Then he threw himself to the other. Alaster did the same with the young man. He gave the Space Marine a brief, bewildered glare as Alaster threw him to the left.

Alaster sprang right, hitting the ground. He felt one of his shoulder pads connect with the stones. He rolled to absorb the impact-

For an instant, there was a shadow. And a deafening whistle. Then a bang. And a convulsion in the steps beneath him. Dust and smoke erupted into the air. A patter of debris rattled down. The ground shook.

Alaster took a second to assess the situation. He noted that he was still alive. That meant the missile, whatever it was, hadn't been explosive. Just dumb mass, hurled through the air.

He rolled to his feet, fingers closing on the chainsword-

That wasn't there.

Skak.

With his free hand he grabbed the combat knife from his belt, sliding it free of the scabbard. His other hand still gripped his bolt pistol, thank the Emperor.

He looked around for his sword.

The steps were buckled and cracked. To his left and behind him, there was a crater. A huge chunk of the steps was just gone, smashed and shattered. And there, sat in the middle of it, was the missile. Soot and ash billowed up from several small fires near it.

Alaster stared at the missile. What the skak was that?

'Patreus,' he said, 'are you okay?'

'Yes,' Patreus's voice crackled in his headphones. 'I'm over here.'

Alaster saw him, through the smoke and the billowing dust. He was some way off to the side. And he was waving.

Alaster looked back at the missile.

It was a fat black ovoid. It was webbed with a network of bulging veins. They were a dark purple. Alaster realised it was some sort of Bug foulness. He felt his lips curl with distaste.

Something moved at the edge of the blast zone. Alaster went for his bolt pistol-

Shakily, the young man stood up. A cascade of dust and rubble sprayed off of him. He had several cuts on his face and what looked like a lot of new bruises, but by some miracle he didn't appear to have sustained any fatal injuries. Alaster had tried to push him away from the impact zone, as best he could guess it before the missile arrived. He'd been partly successful – the man wouldn't have survived if he'd stayed where they'd been.

And there was another miracle. The man was still clutching Alaster's chainsword!

'Hey!' Alaster yelled. 'Over here! Get away from that thing!'

The man didn't appear to hear him. He stepped forward, shakily. He shook his head, looking confused. Oh – Alaster realised he must be a bit dazed at the least. Quite possibly concussed.

'Hey!' Alaster waved his arm.

Finally the man looked up. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes.

There was movement behind him. The surface of the ovoid rippled. Then, with a meaty sucking noise, it split open. Alaster saw two lips of thick, organic tissue pulling back. A dense mass of fibrous shock absorber, he realised. This wasn't a missile – it was some sort of passenger pod!

Skakking hive mind. In the privacy of his head, he cursed it.

'Hey!' he shouted again.

Finally the man saw him. He looked up, eyes brightening.

Something moved behind him.

A Genestealer. Alaster stared in revulsion as the xeno beast unfurled itself from the pod. It was facing the other way. It hadn't seen them. It shook its head, as if it too was a bit dazed.

Alaster wondered just how good the pod's shock-absorbers were. Maybe they were a bit off. He'd never seen anything like this before. If this was the hive mind's latest mad idea, maybe it hadn't quite got it calibrated properly yet?

The young man had clearly sensed something. He looked at Alaster, eyes wide with fear. 'There's something behind me, isn't there?' he said.

The Genestealer froze.

Alaster nodded.

'Can you shoot it – please?' the man asked nervously.

'You're in the way,' Alaster said. The young man was. And Patreus wouldn't have a clear line of sight on him, through the smoke to the side. Alaster thought of the jump pack over his shoulders. He was about to engage it when a loose stone rolled down from one of the broken steps. It hit a bit of rock below it with a loud clink.

The Genestealer spasmed and tried to look up.

Skak. It was responding to sound. And jump packs weren't quiet. By the time Alaster could jump in, the young man would be dead. Alaster realised he had very few options here.

Alaster thought about moving to the side to shoot. Would that help? No – there was lots of smoke from the nearby fires, and the lips of the pod might also get in the way. The gap was still quite narrow. And if he moved too much, he might enter the edges of the xeno's field of view. If he did that, it would definitely turn – and then the young man would die.

Feeling sick, he realised he might have to shoot through the man to get at the xeno.

No. He'd killed enough human beings today. There had to be another way!

The young man clutched fearfully at the chainsword. His eyes were very wide.

An idea suddenly occurred to Alaster. 'You know the button I told you not to touch?' he said.

The young man looked confused, but nodded.

'Put your thumb on it,' Alaster told. 'Just rest it on top of it. Don't push it yet, but be ready to.'

The man looked at the chainsword, confused, then back at the Space Marine. Alaster noted the Genestealer move again. Its head must be clearing. It would work out how close the sound was any moment now. They didn't have much time.

'Shouldn't I run?' the man asked hopefully.

'It's faster than you are,' Alaster told him. 'You would just die. And if you move, you'll alert it. It'll chase you on instinct.'

The man swallowed, looking very afraid.

The xeno moved its head to the left, then the right, as if trying to orient itself. Two of its clawed arms spasmed.

'Alaster?' It was Kodos's voice. 'What's going on?'

'Sergeant – an attack,' Alaster summarised quickly. 'I'll give you a full report in a minute – I'm just trying to save someone's life!'

He looked back at the young man. 'Okay,' he said, trying to sound completely calm and authoritative, 'here's what you need to do. When I say, mash your thumb onto the button. Grip the hilt as hard as you can – there'll be a vibration when the blade spins up. Got that?'

Jerkily, the frightened man nodded his head.

'Now, put your free hand on the blade housing, halfway up. Yes, like that! Grip that firmly too.' The xeno shuddered again. It straightened up. They were going to have to move fast. 'When I tell you to push the button, you need to spin yourself round. As you do, sweep the blade upwards. Put all the force you can behind it. But keep it between you and the thing at all times. Use it properly and you can shield yourself from the claws.'

'What then?' the man asked.

'If you're still alive,' Alaster said bluntly, 'throw yourself to the ground. If you distract this thing, we can shoot it. And that way no problem!'

The man looked terrified. There was water at the edges of his eyes. But he nodded, jerkily and spasmodic.

The genestealer twitched again. Then, suddenly, it seemed to pull itself together. It turned its head. Beady, alien eyes gleamed in its fat, angular skull. A tongue slipped out over savage teeth. It took in the scene. It focused on the young man's back. It moved-

'DO IT!' Alaster shouted.

The young man's thumb jammed onto the stud. The teeth whirred into life. The blade wobbled ominously. The young man turned. He swept the chainsword up-

-and he screamed with fear as he saw the springing xeno. It loomed over him. Alaster saw its shadow pass over him.

Then the chainsword swept up. It had the impetus of fear behind it. It ripped through the Genestealer's raised arms! There was a crunch of torn chitin. Severed limbs flew away.

Alaster wanted to cheer. He couldn't believe it – the mad plan was working!

The stunned xeno tumbled forward, ichor spraying from its severed limbs. The man raised his arms instinctively, to shield himself from the falling alien. But his hands were still wrapped around the chainsword.

The alien's head collided with the teeth.

Xeno bone fragments and ichor poured out. The top of the head was torn clean off.

Alaster wasted no more time. He sprinted forward, knife and pistol at the ready. The young man staggered backward as the corpse of the xeno toppled into him. He fell over, hitting the ground with a thud. The dead alien landed on top of him, ichor still spewing from it.

The man's face was splattered with alien body fluids, but he was alive. He looked disbelieving. Alaster reached him moments later. He stabbed his knife into the corpse, levering the blade under an exoskeletal plate. With that he hauled the xeno corpse up and tossed it aside. It flopped to the ground with a meaty squelch, off to the side.

He shoved the knife into a loop on his belt. He reached down and grabbed the young man's arm. Alaster hauled him to his feet. The man was staring at the dead xeno.

'Well done,' Alaster told him approvingly. 'You killed it.'

'I-' the man stared. 'I – I did, didn't I?' He looked at Alaster, a tumult of emotions running over his face. 'I was terrified!'

There was a sharp smell in the air. The man's pants had a darkening, spreading patch. He'd had a certain, very predictable and very natural reaction to a lot of fear.

Alaster shrugged. 'Not really surprising. But you didn't let it cripple you, so well done. And if nothing else you've probably done your immortal soul a huge favour today.'

The man looked confused again. 'Have I?'

'Yes, you successfully purged a xeno,' Alaster pointed out.

The man swallowed. He looked at the dead xeno monster, his eyes focusing on its claws. His pupils widened as he saw the size of wickedly-sharp appendages. 'I – I would have just died! You saved my life.'

'You saved it yourself,' Alaster said. 'To be honest I wasn't really that much use.' It was true. The Space Marine felt embarrassed.

It seemed the stress of the situation finally got too much for the young man. He suddenly burst into tears and flung his arms around Alaster's waist, babbling 'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!' over and over again.

Carefully, Alaster retrieved the chainsword from the man's hand. The man was a little hysterical, but he'd clearly never been in combat before. You couldn't blame him, really. And his survival had involved a lot of luck.

'Okay,' Alaster said after a moment, carefully disentangling the over-emotional human from his waist, 'I need to have a look at this pod. Stay here.'

Alaster stepped around him. The pod was two metres or so behind him. The gash went from top to bottom along the side facing the station. There was no corresponding gash on the other side. It did still look like a mouth, or some blasphemous xeno sphincter.

A sphincter. Alaster realised that was exactly what it was. The lips were muscle. They held the pod shut in flight. They were presumably meant to open on impact, disgorging its alien cargo.

Alaster leaned forward. And something moved inside it.

He had only a second's glance, but it was enough. He sprang back. A clawed arm waved groggily out through the hole. His bolt pistol came up and barked. The arm split in two with a puff of vapourised ichor. The claw flopped to the ground.

The young man was staring, renewed fear in his eyes. 'There's more of them!' he said.

'Yes,' Alaster said. 'It looks like they haven't quite got this worked out properly. It seems when the pod landed, it did it a bit too hard. It stunned the cargo. Which is just as well for us.'

'What – what are these things?' the man asked, pointing to the corpse.

'Yes, they're things,' Alaster agreed. 'They're called Genestealers. Tyranid shock-troops, basically. Not nice. Anyway, there's another four of them in that pod.'

The young man blanched.

Alaster reached down. He holstered his bolt pistol. Then he pulled a stubby green cylinder from his belt. 'See this?' he said.

The man nodded.

'It's called a grenade,' Alaster explained. 'I'm going to push this little button on the top, then toss it in there.' He gestured to the pod. 'Then, three seconds later, it'll explode. Hard. We don't want to be there when that happens, obviously. So when I toss this, we're going to run back up the stairs. Fast as we can. Got it?'

The man nodded, face white.

'In fact, thinking about, we're going to do it even faster,' Alaster said as the obvious idea hit him. 'You see these boxy things poking up behind my head?'

The man nodded.

'They're the intakes my jump pack,' Alaster explained.

'A what?' the man asked.

'It lets us fly – sort of,' Alaster explained. 'Anyway, instead of running, I'm going to use that. I'll grab you, so you'll get pulled along. It'll be a bit scary, but I'm not going to drop you.'

'Okay,' the man said, sounding dubious. There was a fat vein near his hairline. It was ticking madly.

Alaster could see he was a bit doubtful. Clearly he needed a bit of inspiration. 'Okay, look at it this way. When you get your beautiful girlfriend over there – and well done, by the way – when you get her pregnant, this is an amazing mad story you can store up for the kids, right? The day you helped the Space Marines take down an alien attack, right? Now all we need for that story to work is for you to hang in there just one crazy thing further, okay? Can you do that?'

The man tried to pull himself together, and visibly succeeded, at least partially. His complexion improved a little and the frantic ticking pulse at his temple receded.

'Good,' Alaster said. 'Your kids are going to love this story. Anyway, here goes.'

He put his thumb on the grenade. As he did he slid his chainsword back into its belt-loop. It would hang there happily enough for the time being. With his now-freed hand he grabbed the man's upper arm, gripping it through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Alaster looked at the open maw of the pod, measuring the distance. Something else moved in there. The Genestealers must be getting over their daze, he realised. It was time to act.

His thumb tightened. With a click, the button sank into the grenade.

He threw it. It sailed lazily through the air, spinning as it did. Alaster didn't wait. As soon as his hand was free, he grabbed the man's shoulder and pulled him firmly against his breastplate. Alaster had as firm a grip as he could manage. He twisted to face away from the pod. Then his jump pack fired.

They were slammed into the air. The ground fell away. Alaster took them backward, a short parabolic hop. They landed on the ground moments later but many metres further back. They landed with a bump.

He let the young man go.

Finally overwhelmed, he dropped to the ground and started retching.

Alaster ignored the sudden stench of vomit, or the splashing noises from the paving. Instead he stared at the pod. A moment later, with a thud, the grenade detonated.

The pod's material spasmed. A puff of smoke erupted from its mouth. A spray of torn xeno fragments accompanied it. An agonised keening emerged from the inside. It fell away into a fading gurgle as whatever made it died. Some ichor leaked over the lip of the pod.

Then the pod itself shuddered. Stressed beyond its limits, stressed from both outside and inside, it collapsed. It sagged inwards like a tent whose struts had collapsed. Then it just slumped down, settling into a dead mound.

Alaster sighed with relief.

There was a rumble. A shadow appeared next to him. There was just a warning before Kodos landed. Other rumbles marked the arrival of the rest of the squad.

Alaster pointed. 'Sergeant, that's a-'

'Yes, we know,' Kodos cut him off, sounding grim. 'There are reports coming in from across the town. Some sort of xeno artillery, lobbing pods of Genestealers at us. It's not just here.'

'Skak,' Alaster said. 'They're softening us up!'

'Or trying to,' Kodos agreed.

'What for, Sergeant?'

Kodos pointed. 'At a guess, that.'

Alaster had been focused entirely on the pod, and trying to get the bystander back alive. He hadn't been paying much attention to their surroundings. He wondered all of a sudden if that had been a mistake.

He was staring down one of the avenues that lead toward the station. A gust of wind briefly cleared the smoke by the pod, so he could see clearly.

There was movement down the avenue. A rippling mass. A torrent of xenos, flowing toward them!

'Skak,' he said, 'where did they come from?'

'We don't know yet,' Kodos said, 'but when we're done killing that lot, we'll have to find out. But for now – time to fight!'


	46. Chapter 46 Bugs On The Line

'Look at that!' Nasty said.

The marines were stood a couple of floors above the street, on the flat roof of an abandoned hotel. They were looking over the railing along the wall at the edge, down onto the street below. Watery sunlight was leaking through. It illuminated the pavement and the battered tarmc below them. It glinted off of the windscreens of abandoned cars. Several puddles caught the sun, sharp light glinting back up. Jagged shadows stretched out from broken walls and torn buildings. The street was coloured in a dusty palette of greys and beiges.

And flowing down it was a flood of Rippers.

'They're heading straight for the station,' Fegust said.

'Brilliant observation there, Brother,' Kodos said with withering sarcasm. 'We'd never had guessed, would we?'

The Rippers were indeed flowing toward the station. They added a sharp contrast of colour to the scene – purples and fleshy creams and the sharp whites of vicious teeth.

'There's loads of them,' Sandrer said. 'Just how many?'

'Enough to need stopping,' Eorvan said.

The tide was flowing forward as they spoke. Alaster looked behind him. The squad had moved some way down the battered avenue. He could see the dead fountains at the station in the distance. Behind them, he could see steps that flowed up to the portico. The bottom left corner of the wide flight was a cracked, disordered mess. In the middle of it he could see a big patch of exposed brickwork, a dark reddish blotch amongst the greyish flagstones. And there in the middle of the maroon crater sat the sagged, black lump that had been the missile-pod.

He looked up toward the station entrance. The doors were closed, bolted firmly shut. They were painted green, he realised. Stationed in front of it was a line of blue-black figures. One of the tactical squads had been moved into position to hold off any attack there.

Alaster looked down. Between here and the public square the avenue was intersected three times by other roads. Three junctions – four, counting the square – between them and the station. Four blocks of buildings in which to stop the Nids.

He listened. There was a sound, a repeated shush-shush noise. It was the Rippers as they swarmed forward. Their powerful, stubby little tails were hissing on the tarmac as they drove themselves forward.

Overhead the sky was a mottled cloudy grey. Here and there were weak blue patches, just the odd hint of the clear atmosphere beyond the impact-clouds. It didn't seem a propitious sky, Alaster thought. It seemed tense, ominous.

'What do we do, Sergeant?' he asked.

'Kill Bugs, stupid,' Kodos growled. 'The question is how.'

Their earphones crackled. 'This is Lakon,' a familiar bu new voice said. 'Kodos, are you there?'

'Yes, Brother-Captain.' Was it just Alaster's ears playing tricks, or did Kodos sound relieved?

'Good. I'm moving Sergeant Solyn's Devastators down. They're going to the tower block at the end of the avenue. The roof looks pretty intact. When they get there, they'll pound the Rippers into dust.'

Alaster risked a glance behind them. He could see the tower block in question. It wasn't a very big one, only seven stories high. On Majoris it would have been a dwarf amongst the thirty- and forty-story monsters next door. It was one of the highest buildings in this town. But then, this entire town would have been lost amongst the urban mass of Copelberg, for instance.

'How long will that take, my Lord?' Kodos asked.

'We reckon at least twelve minutes,' Lakon said. 'There's a lot of stairs that need climbing. And a lot of gear that needs shifting.'

Alaster looked down, feeling dubious. He could hear the hiss-hiss of the Nid tails again. They were moving fast.

'That's too long,' Kodos said bluntly. 'These Bugs will get to the square first.'

'I know,' Lakon said. 'And that's where you come in. Your squad are to slow them down. I don't care how you do it, but we need a dozen minutes out of you. Got it?'

'Yes my Lord,' Kodos said. His helmet turned. He surveyed the squad. He raised his plasma pistol. The cooling-coils glowed with an unsteady bluish light. A slight heathaze rippled over it. 'All right Ravens, we've got our orders. We need to keep the Nids down this street, so we'll cover opposite sides. Team Karo, you have the left side. Team Eorvan, you have the right.

'And this is what we're going to do. When the Nids are between junctions, we throw everything at them to slow them down. Grenades, bolts, you've got it. Then when we get to the junctions, we funnel them so they have to stay on this street. We want to feed them onto the Devastators' guns.

'There's a lot of them, but we have the advantage here. We have our jump packs, whereas they're just on the ground. We can hover over them and drop stuff on them. This should be do-able. Got it?'

Alaster nodded. 'Yes, Sergeant.'

'Yes Brother-Sergeant,' Eorvan confirmed.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'We start with grenades. Break their line, kill as many of them as we can. Now - let's move.'

Alaster waved to Nasty and Patreus. They lit their jump packs. They lifted up over the railing. For a moment they were in clear air. Alaster could hear the growl of this thrusters and he could feel the rumble, propagating in through his harness and his backpack. He looked down. He could see his shadow on the ground below. There were two more beside him – Nasty and Patreus.

Alaster pointed to the appropriate side of the street. 'Let's move!' he said, shouting to be heard over the growl of the thrusters. They moved. Alaster felt the wind blow around him, adding a low moan to all the other sounds.

And then they were there, on the left of the street.

Looking over, Alaster saw the others, hovering on the other side.

He looked at Nasty and Patreus. 'Do you both have your grenades?'

They both nodded.

'Okay. We'll start with my remaining one, then. I'll throw it into the middle of the mass. When it blows, I want you two to pick off any survivors from the front.'

The purple and cream tide of little Nids was approaching.

Alaster held up a hand. He had it wrapped around the green cylinder of a grenade. 'On five,' he heard Kodos say. 'One.'

'Two.

'Three.'

The tide of Bugs had halved the distance between them. The hissing of their motion was louder – and was it Alaster's imagination, or could he hear a faint, hungry chittering?

'Four.'

They were even closer. He caught a gleam of sunlight on a set of savage teeth.

'Five. Throw them down!'

Alaster pushed the button on the grenade. He felt it click into place. He hurled it downward. It spun as it fell, a little green cylinder falling toward the mass. It hit the ground. A startled Ripper reared up, eyeing the alien thing that had arrived in its alien midst.

The grenade exploded.

There was a bang and a flash of light. Shredded Rippers were hurled into the air. A spherical blast wave ripped out. Xenos within a few metres were torn apart, into a hail of pinkish-purple innards and fragments of chitin. The tarmac beneath was blown clean away, tearing a neat crater into the road. A smell of burnt flesh and cordite lifted into the air.

From the other side of the street came another flash and bang.

Then the air was filled with the keening of injured Nids.

The effect on the horde was explosive. As they scented meat in the air, their hardwired instincts took over. The Nid advance suddenly staggered and collapsed. The wave of Rippers fell on each other.

'Oh wow,' Nasty said. 'Cannibal frenzy!'

'Hey!' Patreus said. 'A couple of them are trying to get away!' He pointed. A few Nids had just escaped being shredded by the grenade. They were speeding o ahead of the main mass.

Alaster drew his pistol. 'Let's drop them!' He sighted and fired. 'nasty – with me! Patreus, cover us!'

He didn't hit the Nid, of course, not at this range. But his shot did hit the tarmac, smacking hard into it. It released a puff of shrapnel and a load crack. It spooked the handful of Rippers. They stopped, for just a moment.

That was all the Ravens needed.

Alaster killed his jump pack. He dropped, feet first, a dead weight of Space Marine, armour and weapons. In this instance, gravity worked with him. He'd positioned himself just right.

He heard Patreus's bolt pistol bark. More smoke puffed out in front of the Nids and another hole was added to the tarmac.

The startled Rippers surged backward.

Right underneath Alaster's descending form.

He landed on one of them. He bent his knees to absorb the impact, but it did the Ripper no good. With a crack of broken chitin, it was crushed under his boot. Another one sprang at him – just in time for him to kick it, as hard as he could. The Ripper was hurled over the pavement, where it smacked into a concrete wall. Its broken body slumped to the ground, a stain of ichor dribbling down the wall after it.

There was a crunch next to Alaster as Nasty landed on another Ripper.

Between them they set to demolishing the little xeno escapees. It took a matter of seconds. Bolt pistols barked and ceramite boots stomped. The ground was soon littered with dead and dying Rippers.

They paused, just a for a moment, looking back at the main mass.

They were still turning on each other. It seemed the scent of burnt meat had driven the small beasts into a frenzy of self-destruction. They kept throwing themselves at each other with the stubbornness that only dumb instinct could provide.

'Wow,' Nasty said.

Alaster felt uneasy. 'This is odd,' he said. 'Why are they turning on each other so much? Why doesn't the hive mind rein them in? Surely it needs them alive?'

'Can't see any big ones,' Eorvan's voice crackled in their ears. 'Maybe it doesn't have enough control on this lot.'

'While they're busy,' Kodos said, 'grenade them. Let's wipe out as many of the little skakkers as we can!'

'I can do that!' Nasty announced. He gleefully hefted a grenade.

A button clicked. He tossed it toward the fratricidal feast that was occurring on the street in front of them. As the grenade spun through the air, he and Alaster lit their jump packs and lifted back up.

Alaster saw a couple more little cylinders sail through the air, courtesy of the other team. They all plunged into the frenzied mass of Rippers. An instant passed, then three separate flashes detonated. Three bangs shook the street.

Torn shreds of Rippers were hurled everywhere. The street below was awash with alien ichor. Fragments of chitin and broken teeth scattered across the cracked, blackened tarmac. Alaster stared in delighted astonishment – they'd halved the swarm!

'Okay, follow it up,' Kodos said. 'We should still have half our grenades. Let's take down the rest of them, before they get it together!'

The remaining Rippers seemed to realise they were in danger. They surged forward. They were met with three more grenades.

Moments later, the street was awash with alien carnage. And not a single xeno lived or moved amongst the biological wreckage below them.

The marines were hovering by the hotel wall, surveying the scene below. Behind them was a faded sign, the chipped and cracking paint declaring that AMBER GUEST ROOMS had THE BEST VALUE IN TOWN! No, Alaster thought. The best value in town was the little grenades they had just annihilated the mass of Nids with!

'Wow,' Nasty said. 'Talk about bringing the storm! We skakking brought a skakking hurricane just then! And we just skakked them to pieces!'

'There is such a thing as other swear-words, you know,' Patreus offered pedantically.

'Skak that,' Nasty said emphatically.

Their earphones crackled. 'This is Lakon. What's the situation?'

Kodos sounded pleased. 'It seems under control, Brother-Captain. Looks like you don't need to rush Solyn after all.'

'Good,' Lakon said. 'We've got some satellite footage coming in now. They're using IR spirits and gaps in the cloud for optical coverage. Should give us some intel on where these Bugs are coming from. And-'

They were interrupted.

Alaster heard a distant boom. He caught a flash of light. 'Hey, what was that?' He turned his head. 'What the skak?'

In the distance, on the other side of town, a miniature mushroom cloud had blossomed. It was an angry mass of swirling black smoke and sooty orange flames. It curled and billowed up into the sky before them.

'Is it just me,' Kodos said, 'or is that north-east of us?'

'It is,' Lakon said grimly. 'Terra's green hills – that was the substation!'

'Oh skak,' Kodos said. 'Blasphemous xeno foulness! The electricity!'

There was a short pause, then Lakon spoke grimly. 'That's exactly what they've done, Brothers. I've just spoke to the station manager. I had to get one of the tac marines to go in there and pass over his helmet – all the landlines are out! The Bugs have knocked out the remaining transformer. The station doesn't have any power.'

'Uh, what about the trains?' Nasty asked.

'What do you skakking thing, brain of the year?' Alaster could tell Kodos was worried – the sergeant's sarcasm was biting. 'They're electric too. No electricity, no trains!'

Lakon's voice spoke again. It was hard and angry. 'And we just got the surveillance holos in. It seems the missile-pods were a trick – they were getting us to look in the wrong place! We should've been looking for tunnels! The IR spirits have seen loads of hot tunnel-mouths, all around the outskirts of town. Brothers, we've been gamed by a xeno. A xeno!'

'The filthy xenos are digging their way in,' Kodos growled. 'It's the ridge all over again! Skakking hive mind – too clever for its own good!'

'If I ever meet this hive mind,' Nasty put in, 'I'll hit it with my axe.'

'Okay,' Alaster said, 'what do we do-'

There was a rumble of collapsing brickwork and a cloud of dust. Then there was an electric hiss-crackle, like Kodos's plasma pistol, but much louder. Even as Alaster was turning his head, the sizzling green plasma bolt blasted through the smoke.

It shot across the street. Straight for them. The marines' jump packs howled as they tried to leap out of the way. But there wasn't enough time.

The bolt shot just past Alaster. The powerful electric field sent sparks crackling over his suit. His jump pack stuttered and he dropped for a moment. He tumbled down-

Then the bolt slammed into the wall behind them.

It exploded.

A shower of brick shrapnel and debris blasted out. A hole circular section of the wall vanished. Alaster stared, stupefied, at the hole. Then he heard a loud groan. It was followed by a rumble. A couple of bits of masonry fell down, past the hole. He shook his head, clearing the confusion. He pulled himself together a moment later-

Just in time for a vast shadow to blot out the suns.

He looked up as the hotel's façade, denied support against gravity, toppled forward. There was no time to evade. There was no time to flee. There was just time to shove his hands in front of his face as a torrent of brickwork fell on him.

A hammer-blow of falling building slammed into him.

Alaster was smacked down toward the ground. He felt himself hit it. He felt a surge of pain smash through his body. Something crunched beside him. Rubble bounced off his suit.

Pain flared through his head. A half-brick bigger than his fist glanced off his helmet. The blow knocked his head back, the crest-ridge of his helm clunking against the crown of his backpack. Stars danced in front of Alaster's eyes. He raised his head, shaking it to try and clear it.

He caught a glimpse of another big shadow, descending.

Oh skak, he thought-

The chunk of wall hammered onto his leg. He grunted as pain flared throughout his left shin. He looked down. His leg had been half-buried under and entire chunk of wall!

All around them fragments of brick cascaded to the ground. The air was filled with swirling dust and the clatter of the rain of debris. Stonework pattered onto the ground around them.

Alaster tried to sit up. Fresh pain flared though his leg. He dragged himself into a half-sit. 'Patreus! Nasty! Are you there?'

A mound of brick to his side shuddered and ruptured. Nasty emerged from it. His armour was dented and scratched, but he was on his feet and looking pissed off, not hurt. 'I'm here,' Nasty said. 'I'm okay. I just got hit by lots of skakking little stuff, no really big ones.' Then Nasty looked at Alaster's leg. 'Hey, your boot's sticking out! But, umm, it's not meant to be at that angle, is it?'

Alaster looked down. Dragging himself upright, ignoring the pain, he pushed a load more brickwork off himself. 'Skak,' he said as the damage was revealed.

In a way, he'd been lucky. The falling mass of masonry had landed cross-wise over his greave, where the armour was strongest and where it could spread the load the furthest. It if hadn't done that, if it had come down at a right angle, Alaster realised it would have ripped his leg off.

As it was it had just – just! – viciously dislocated his ankle.

'Take off your helmet,' Nasty said.

Alaster, realising what Nasty was about to do, pulled it off.

Nasty walked over. He dug a cloth out of one of his pouches. He looked at it, then threw it aside. He picked up a chunk of brick. 'Bite down on this!' he said.

A moment later and Alaster had the brick between his teeth.

Nasty pushed the remaining debris off Alaster's stricken leg. 'Brace yourself,' he said, grabbing a firm hold on the boot.

Then he _twisted_.

Alaster felt the foot click back into place. And it hurt! By the Emperor, did it hurt! He savagely bit back a howl of pain, reminding himself that Space Marines don't scream.

'Just get it aligned again,' Nasty said, and he _twisted_ again.

Alaster's jaw clenched.

Half of the brick fell out of his mouth. He spat the other half out. He'd bitten right through it!

'Okay,' Nasty said. 'You can, umm, probably hobble now.'

Alaster's foot was an abused ball of pain, but he pulled himself to his feet. Quickly he shoved his helmet back on. It clicked into place.

There was a crackle in his earphones. 'Karo, Shepherd – you still alive?'

'Sergeant,' Nasty said. 'just about.'

'And Patreus?'

'Okay,' Alaster said past the pain, 'where is Patreus? It's not like him to vanish in an attack!'

Nasty looked round. 'He was over – oh skak.'

They saw Patreus.

He was slumped on his front, sprawled on the tarmac, some distance away. He wasn't moving. One of his shoulder pads was warped out of shape, with a half-melted look. Behind Patreus a dense cloud of dust and smoke swirled across the street.

'He must've been right under the blast,' Alaster realised. 'And-'

Something moved behind the smoke. A gust of wind caught it and it curled apart. And they were staring up, at the evil, wedge-shaped head of their attacker. Its head was covered with sharp-edged, bony armour plates. Two vicious arms with enormous scything claws emerged from its shoulders. And below them, two more arms were fused together into the protruding form of a bioplasma cannon. The monster was stood on two strong, powerful legs. A tail ending in a wicked spike swung out behind it. It was cream and purple, like the other Nids. Its form was splattered with grey dust from the building whose wall it had blasted the bioplasma bolt through, moments before.

'That's why they let us kill them,' Alaster said, feeling sick. 'An ambush!'

'And that's a Hive Tyrant,' Kodos said grimly.

'And it's closer to Patreus then we are,' Alaster said, feeling sick.

'His suit feeds say he's alive,' Kodos said. 'Is he moving?'

'Uh, no,' Alaster said.

The Tyrant's massive head swung round. It saw the two Space Marines stood before it. A forked tongue slithered out of its mouth and ran lovingly over its massive teeth. It raised the bioplasma tube. Alaster heard a crackle. He was staring straight down it. And it was glowing green-

'GET OUT THE WAY!' he shouted. He dived to the side, rolling as his shoulder pad smacked into the ground. He grunted as a fresh wave of pain ran through his foot. He caught a glimpse of Nasty leaping into the air on his jump pack-

Then a crackling roar parted the air. A fresh bolt of bioplasma howled through the space they'd just occupied. A heathaze ripped through the air and for a moment, everything stank of ozone. Alaster saw more sparks run across the teeth of his chainblade as the enormous electric field ripped loose electrons from their shells-

The bolt hit ground.

There was a boom. Alaster felt the ground convulse under him. A fresh rain of debris was hurled through the air. Some more, smaller fragments pattered of his armour. A fresh cloud of smoke billowed up.

'Okay,' Kodos's voice said. 'Alaster, Shepherd, get Patreus. We're going to distract this thing.'

Alaster heard jump packs. He saw the shapes of four Space Marines move overhead. The Hive Tyrant looked up. It saw them too. It raised its plasma tube, aiming. A bolt shot out, toward one of the marines – Alaster thought it might be Sandrer.

He dodged out of the way at the last minute.

The Tyrant bellowed its frustration, turning to loose a new shot.

Then Kodos dropped in behind it. He slammed his chainsword into its bony head. 'Over here, you dumb skakker!'

The Tyrant leapt round.

And just for a moment, its back was turned to Alaster and Nasty.

Alaster leapt up. He grimaced as agony shot through his foot. His training rose up and he bit down on it, forcing the pain off to one side. He was a Storm Raven – he was the inflictor of pain, not its victim! He reassured himself that he could still fight. A quick check on the readouts for his jump pack said that, by some miracle, the intakes weren't clogged.

He fired the jets.

He jumped up in a quick parabola. He landed next to Patreus's prone form. There was a grumble of jets as Nasty landed in next to him.

'Get his legs,' Alaster told Nasty.

'You'd better move,' he heard Kodos say. 'We can't keep this thing distracted much longer.'

Alaster heard the descent of a cloven hoof as the Tyrant stomped on the broken pavement below it.

'Okay,' he said. He grabbed Patreus's arms up. 'We've got him.'

'Good,' Kodos said. 'Lakon, this is Kodos. Man down – repeat, man down!'

Their earphones crackled. 'Okay,' Lakon's voice said. 'Pull back to the square. Repeat, the square!'

They needed no further urging. Alaster and Nasty engaged their packs. Holding onto Patreus's unconscious form, they lifted into the air. He slumped between them. They were almost jerked off course. He was heavy!

And Alaster's body hurt all over, although his foot was worse. He ignored it.

They moved through the air. Buildings slid past on either side. With an extra load, they were slower than Alaster liked. The rest of the squad followed.

He heard a repeating thud-thud.

He looked behind them. 'Skak! It's following us!'

The Hive Tyrant was chasing the retreating Ravens. Its tongue ran over its vicious teeth. Something about its eyes seemed triumphant, even smug. It loped along behind them on its massive hooves, head rising and falling with its stride.

Lakon's voice crackled in their ears. 'Good. Just get it to the final intersection.'

Good? Good? What was good about this situation? Alaster felt confused and angry. He could feel the weight of Patreus, arms gripped tightly by his hands. Patreus's scratched and dented helmet hung down, as if he were staring at the ground. He showed no sign of waking.

Their shadows lumbered over the tarmac below. Cars, pavement and road signs passed below them. Behind them, the Tyrant paced them. It seemed happy to let them run a bit, like an enormous predator playing with its prey before it moved in for the kill.

A street intersection passed. Then another. How many left?

Alaster looked up. They were gaining on the final one. He could see the station square beyond, the fountains and the wrecked steps. And there was a seven-story building-

And he caught a flash of light from its roof. The suns, gleaming on the barrel of a weapon. And suddenly he understood Lakon's plan.

They passed the final intersection.

The Tyrant loped behind them. It seemed intent, eager. It speeded up-

'DROP! TO THE GROUND!' Lakon's order roared in their earphones.

Alaster obeyed without further thought. The squad plunged to the floor.

The Tyrant stepped forward-

And there were multiple roars from the roof before it. In unison, Solyn's Devastators unleashed both their plasma cannon and all three of their rocket launchers. Two bolts of superheated plasma howled through the air. Three rockets screamed forward, little trails of vapour curling behind them.

They all found their mark.

The Tyrant's thorax exploded. The alien monster spasmed as its chest was torn to pieces. Its broken body toppled backwards. A stench of roasted meat filled the air.

'Wow,' Nasty said. 'Those guns beat my pistol any day!'

Their earphones crackled with Lakon's voice again. 'The square. Get back here. Now.'

They got.

Minutes later, Alaster found himself stood on the cracked and broken steps below the station building again. The steps sloped up above him, to the entrance three metres up and fifteen metres behind. Before them, the square was a hive of activity. The Space Marines had pulled back to it. The Devastators had taken up fresh positions on either side of the station entrance. They'd produced a pair of Tarantula guns from somewhere. They were sat down on the wide space of the square, with the fountains. The two tactical squads were positioned in the cover of the fountains, awaiting the call. Alaster couldn't help but notice that one of the squads looked smaller than the other. He wondered why that was.

Lakon was with them now. He was wearing his Terminator suit again, helmet on. A massive assault cannon was slung under one of his arms and the other was inside a bulky power fist, lethal energies crackling over its surface.

'We were set up,' Kodos reported.

Nearby Patreus was laid out on the ground. One of the company's apothecaries was with him, doing something worrying medical.

Lakon's massive helmet nodded. 'Okay.' His voice grated through the speakers. 'We all were. They've suckered us nicely. The Gargoyle flight. The pods. They made us think an aerial attack was on the way – when they were already holed up below bits of the town! Just waiting. While you were busy with the Rippers, they must have dug themselves up from their tunnels.'

'What happened at the transformer?' Kodos asked.

'We've got some footage through now,' Lakon explained. 'A camera with batteries, so it's still running. They sent spore mines through. Sprayed acid over everything. It ate into the transformer itself. Volatiles, oxygen, electricity spirits – it exploded. Not really a surprise there, I guess.'

'Wasn't it guarded?' Kodos asked.

'Yes. It was.'

'Oh.'

Alaster stared, shocked. He realised what Lakon meant – they'd lost a brother? He felt angry and sick at the same time.

'Who?' Kodos asked.

'Brothers Aris and Thennan,' Lakon said grimly, 'and Brother-Corporal Thaddeus. From Sergeant Kerryn's squad.'

Kodos swore long and hard. 'How did they die?'

'Spore mines, we think. They were surprised. The hole was dug somewhere inside the compound. An attack from behind. They didn't have a chance. They didn't even get a chance to call for help.'

'So Kerryn's going to want to scrag some Bugs.'

Lakon nodded. 'We all do.'

Alaster had a thought. He walked over. 'Sorry to interrupt my Lord – but Thaddeus? _That_ Thaddeus?'

Lakon's Terminator helm looked at him, then nodded. 'Yes. The one you put a knife in back on Delta, Brother. There weren't two of them in my company.'

Alaster's stomach did a flip-flop. 'Skak. I – I never apologised to him for that!'

'You have nothing to apologise for – that was an injury in the line of duty. And as I said at the time, if a mighty Space Marine gets sticked by a scrawny teenager, then frankly he deserves a leak or two! And the fact he's dead doesn't change that now.'

'But still …' Alaster felt shocked and appalled. Three of their brothers, dead? It couldn't be!

'Brother, we all have unfinished business,' Lakon said, sounding very old. 'You don't want to know how many friends I've lost – though you might one day.'

'We don't have time for this now,' Kodos said bluntly. 'What's the situation?'

Lakon was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, 'We've got reports of Bug movement all around town. They're streaming in toward the station. In a way it's lucky – we can probably hold this area, for a while.'

'Lucky?' Kodos asked. 'We've got nearly three hundred panicky civilians in there!' He pointed at the doors to the building. 'What the skak are we going to do with them?'

Alaster felt a fresh sick sense of worry – not for himself, but for the people trapped in that building. The people they were doing such a bad job of protecting! He felt appalled. He thought of the eagle on his breastplate. He dreaded to think what the Emperor would make of this fiasco. Surely He could reasonably expect better of His Astartes?

'Get the people out, of course,' Lakon said calmly. 'This is a setback, but our duty hasn't changed.'

'How do we do that?' Alaster asked. 'The trains are dead.'

'There's a plan,' Lakon said. 'And I'll give you a hint – it involves the word Thunderhawk.'

Alaster's heart leapt.

'They're on their way in now,' Lakon added. 'We need three of them. One lands there-' he pointed toward the fountains '-another lands here-' he pointed at the space just before the steps '-and one comes down just over there. If we do it fast, we can get everyone onboard in a couple of minutes.'

'How long till they get here?' Kodos asked.

'Twenty-three minutes,' Lakon said. 'They're running in at maximum burn. Call it another ten minutes to land and load up – then we get clear.'

'We just have to hold the square in the meantime,' Kodos said.

'Yes, but we can do that,' Lakon said confidently. 'We've had a surprise, but brothers, remember we are the Emperor's Ravens! We'll adapt and strike back. And when we strike, we'll do it with the force of our fury. The Bugs have bitten off more than they can chew this day!'

Lakon's words were spoken with calm, absolute confidence. Alaster heard them and did not doubt. He felt himself straighten up, a new sense of clarity settling over him. He and his brothers would stand and fight here, and they would fight to win! Any defeatist thoughts vanished from his mind. He was a warrior and a Space Marine – he wouldn't bend his neck to these alien monsters, and nor would his battle-brothers. They would stand, they would fight and they would win!

Kodos nodded. 'Then I guess it's time to bring the storm.'

'Yes,' Lakon agreed.

A few minutes had passed.

The most recent images from the satellites suggested the Bugs were due to arrive any moment now. The satellites couldn't be any more precise – there was too much patchy cloud cover. But the good news was the Thunderhawk was on its way.

Alaster was waiting on the steps, with his brothers. Patreus, still unconscious, had been taken inside the station, to the faded but vast marble lobby and ticket hall. A couple of startled civilians had been drafted to keep an eye on him. There were a string of IVs, plugged into his backpack, pumping drugs into his system. The apothecary suspected internal bleeding, with a side order of blunt-force trauma. Probably also a concussion to the head. It was best to move him as little as possible. Being prone during a firefight wouldn't help matters any.

'Here they come!' someone announced.

Alaster looked up. There they were – coming from one of the street corners! And this time it wasn't Rippers. Genestealers – the hive mind meant business now.

'Devastators!' Lakon's voice roared. He was stood down there in his massive Terminator suit, with the tactical squads. The Librarian, Kaylos and Fellack the Chaplain were with him. Alaster couldn't help but admire them as they stood there, firmly and calmly, in the face of the onrushing Tyranids. 'Squad Solyn! Pound them!'

The Devastators followed their orders. Rockets growled from launchers and two streams of incandescent plasma blasted out. Alaster watched in awe as the wave of Genestealers was methodically blasted to pieces. Broken alien bodies were hurled into the air on blast waves and carapaces were torn apart.

There was movement from the other side of the square. At the other street junction, another wave of aliens appeared. This lot were much closer to the commanders then they were to the Devastators.

Alaster noticed Kaylos look up. The Librarian had a bolt pistol in one blue-gauntleted hand. Oddly, he had a scroll in the other. He glanced at it, scanned something and then tucked it under his arm. Kaylos extended it, hand out. He started up one of the Imperial Catechisms, something about not suffering the xeno to live. Nothing particularly unusual. Alaster wondered what the point was – and why was no-one else shooting?

The new wave of Genestealers was approaching. They'd run out from the avenue they'd been in, claws waving and alien faces hungry.

Alaster suddenly felt an odd shiver run through him.

He stared. The air in front of Kaylos's hand was glowing, a fat wobbly purple orb! And the man's eyes – he wasn't wearing a helmet, for no apparent reason – were also glowing! Alaster realised he was watching some sort of warpcraft. He felt a superstitious shiver.

Then Kaylos released the bolt of psychic energy.

It ripped through the air, just like a psionic plasma bolt. It ploughed into the mass of Genestealers – then it exploded. The explosion was an ethereal thing, entirely soundless but nonetheless extremely devastating. The aliens spasmed and toppled to the ground. They twitched as they fell, ichor spurting from their mouths and eyes.

Then they lay dead on the ground, felled by Kaylos's bolt.

Seeing the destruction it had wreaked, Alaster suddenly had no doubt that it was holy work. Unusual as they were, Kaylos's powers were sanctioned by the Imperium, for use in battle against its foes.

'Well done, Brother,' he heard Lakon say dryly.

'Thank you, my Lord Captain,' Kaylos replied. 'There's more where that came from.'

'Good,' Lakon said. 'I'm sure we'll need it. Ah – and here comes the next wave of victims!'

Some of the marines actually laughed.

Another wave of xenos were pouring out of the avenue. Various Gaunts, this time. There was a whistle as the barrel of Lakon's cannon spun up. It roared, tearing a line of explosive death through the aliens. The destruction was more conventional, but no less powerful than Kaylos's blast.

After a moment, the other Devastator squad joined in. They fired a couple of plasma bolts up, on a parabolic trajectory, over the defenders' heads. The bolts plunged down amongst the xeno mass, scorching bodies and charring limbs. Alaster wanted to cheer. Watching all this xeno destruction was wonderful!

'More from the other side!' a voice shouted.

Alaster's attention was jerked to the side. The other avenue – another mass of Gaunts was flooding along that too.

Within moments, Solyn's Devastators began their bloody work again.

A couple of minutes later, the Assault Marines got their call. A flock of Gargoyles was spotted, flying in from the west. It seemed the hive mind had belatedly realised that it needed to get into the air to regain the initiative.

Alaster's squad and the other assault squad met the xenos in the air.

The next few minutes past in a frenzied close-combat fight. Alaster was immersed in a world of parries and thrusts from his chainsword, the growl of the teeth as they tore into alien flesh and the flashes of the muzzle as his bolter fired. Nasty and the others were with him. Nasty had a two-handed grip on his axe, happily swinging it at any Gargoyle that dared wander too close. More often than not, his strokes met flesh and broke chitin. Somewhere behind them, Kodos's plasma pistol spoke with its distinctive crackle-hiss.

They were making short work of the aliens. Broken xeno bodies fell to the ground, twisted limbs and torn wings thudding lifelessly onto the stonework. Alaster's mind was fully focused on the fight. His body still hurt in many places, but it was remote, unimportant. Any pain was secondary to the holy objective of killing the Nids.

Down below, the Tactical Marines were adding their firepower to the fight. From the relative cover of the wide bowls of the big concrete fountains, they picked off xeno after xeno. Meanwhile the Devastators continues pounding the alien reinforcements as they arrived.

Lakon, Kaylos and Fellack were leading the fight up front. Alaster watched as Fellack brained a Tyranid Warrior with his crozius. Where the beast had appeared from, Alaster had no idea, but it was good to see it promptly purged!

Then a fresh wave of Gargoyles arrived, and the Assault Marines went to meet them with an appropriately-violent welcome.

Alaster wasn't sure how long the fight had gone on for. The Nids were giving this everything, but the Space Marines were pounding them back. The square had become one massive killzone, dead and broken Bugs mounded up everywhere. Alaster was appalled to see a couple more Ravens fallen on the ground – dead or just unconscious he couldn't tell. But seeing his brothers wounded only reinforced his urge to break xeno skulls.

The fight in the air was frenzied, brutal and up close – everything the Assault Marines liked. If the Gargoyles wanted to take them on up here, they were more than ready for it!

Suddenly, Lakon's voice spoke in their earphones. 'Heads up! The Thunderhawks are coming in!'

Alaster brained a Gargoyle with his sword. It tumbled and dropped from the sky. Alaster looked up in time to see the shape of the first Thunderhawk break through the clouds. The other two followed it shortly, the air roiling behind them in the wake of their powerful engines. Alaster could already hear their roar - the Thunderhawks were well-named!

As they approached, the Thunderhawks added their powerful guns to the fight.

Alaster noticed they'd temporarily run out of Gargoyles. He scanned the sky, looking for the next opponent. All he saw was clouds and the tops of broken buildings. Was that it?

His earphones crackled again. 'Squad Kodos, your man is in there with the civilians. You go and marshall them out. The hawks will land in forty-five seconds. You need to be ready to roll when they hit the ground. Now move!'

They had their orders.

Moments later Alaster and the others were on the ground, slamming the heavy green doors open and sprinting into the station. It was the first time Alaster had been in here. He took a brief look around. It was a big space. Polished marble columns held up the vaulted roof at one end. Ticket booths sat between them. Beyond that the back wall opened into corridors that doubtless led on to train platforms.

The hall had high, circular stained glass windows at either end. Weak sunlight cast a smear of colours onto the polished floor through one of them. In the middle of the room it illuminated the worried mass of waiting people.

They were all looking up as the Ravens stormed in.

Kodos strode over, tugging off his helmet. The stained-glass light glinted on his metallic eye.

'Okay,' he said, speaking up, 'There's good news – we're getting you out of here!'

He had to raise his voice further. A rising vibration was resonating through the building – the engines of the Thunderhawks, as the thrusters brought them in to land. It was very loud! It would be even louder outside. Alaster could hear it in his ears and feel it through his feet.

'That sound you hear is our Thunderhawks,' Kodos shouted. 'We're going to lift you clean off this ground. Now, in a minute we're going to need you to run out that door.' He pointed. 'When you do, you'll meet one of my marines – here they are!' He pointed at the squad. 'They'll point you at a Thunderhawk. Do what the nice marine says, we don't bite! When you've been aimed at a Thunderhawk, just run. Run as fast as you can. Don't look up, don't stop. Just run up that ramp, into the compartment. You'll hear noise, see shots being fired – ignore it. The fighting is our problem, not yours, okay?

'Now, can you do this for me?'

A lot of scared eyes looked at him. They didn't seem too certain. Alaster felt his heart sink.

Suddenly someone jumped up. It was the man from earlier, from the photo. He looked at the crowd, then at Kodos, then back at the crowd. There was a manically-intense look in his eyes. 'Come on, people!' he said. 'We can do this – you saw me chop that alien beast earlier! If even I could do that, then you can too! We are the people of the Imperium! We've stood for ten thousand years! We've stood our ground against the worst foulness of the Galaxy – and we've won! We aren't afraid of any stupid alien creature! Come on, people – we can do this! Who's with me?'

It was hackneyed, clichéd, daft – any competent scriptwriter would happily have had the man shot for a speech like that. But, apparently, it was exactly what the crowd needed to hear. Suddenly they were on their feet, yelling and cheering. People were waving their fists in the air and several even jumped up and down. A surge of manic energy ran through the room, as days and weeks of stress and tension explosively released itself. The big room was a tumult of noise. The crowd was desperate for any kind of relief from their misery, and out it poured in a sudden new enthusiasm. Kodos looked surprised and pleased. He met the man's eyes and nodded, a polite gesture of thanks.

Moments later Alaster was at the door. Beyond he could see the three Thunderhawks. Large as the square was, they dominated it. It seemed a lot smaller with their bulk filling it. They were positioned with their forward ramps pointed toward the station door. The less distance these people had to run across, the better.

The first one came forward, a woman with a little girl in tow. The woman looked scared. The girl had a stuffed toy and gave Alaster a suspicious and unimpressed glare, in that way that only small children can manage.

Alaster pointed at the nearest Thunderhawk. 'Go – run!' he said.

The mother tugged her daughter's hand and they were off, running toward the waiting spaceplane.

Alaster turned his attention to the next civilian in need of marshalling. Kodos and Eorvan were doing the same, with the other marines hovering above them on their jump packs, in case aerial support was needed.

As he directed people onward, Alaster kept half an ear on the fighting beyond the Thunderhawks. Now that they were parked, the marines had moved to maintaining a cordon around them. The Thunderhawks' guns had helped on the way in, so there weren't as many Nids needing suppression. But now it was intense, close-combat fighting. They didn't have the full space of the square to work with any more.

Alaster sent another family on their way toward the Thunderhawk.

They were immediately followed by another.

The improvised evacuation progressed. Again Alaster found himself losing track of time. He was completely focused on the task at hand.

Suddenly there were no more people to dispatch. Confused, he looked up.

Kodos's helmet scowled back at him. 'Good news,' the sergeant said, 'we're done. Time to fall back to our rides!'

The next couple of minutes were the most dangerous by far of the battle.

The Space Marines fell back toward the waiting Thunderhawks, walking backwards, pouring fire into the advancing wave of Nids as they did. This had to be done carefully – as brothers boarded the waiting Thunderhawks, their available firepower dropped off. The likelihood of being overwhelmed by a sudden wave of Bugs increased.

But the Ravens knew their business. There was no let up in the storm of bolts that hammered into the advancing Gaunts. Alaster found himself moving back with the rank of Space Marines. Suddenly, bizarrely, he found himself inside the relative darkness of the troop compartment. It was crowded – more people then he'd ever seen in one of these before. The others were all there – Patreus had been carried back with them.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud hiss. The ramp rose. Beyond it Alaster saw a mass of Gaunts surge toward them. One of them sprang up – and by some ill miracle actually cleared the ramp! There was a gasp from the worried refugees behind them.

Alaster's pistol barked, with him barely even having to think about it. Ichor sprayed like a fountain from the Gaunt as it suddenly became target practise for almost every marine in the compartment. It seemed they'd all had the same idea.

What was left of it collapsed down to the deck, a dead and mangled wreck.

The ramp hissed shut. There was a clunk as the seals engaged.

'HANG ON EVERYONE!' Kodos shouted.

Then, with a phenomenal roar, they felt the engines engage.

Outside, the mass of Tyranids hissed and waved their claws in hungry frustration at the sky, as the three Thunderhawks vanished up toward the clouds. They took with them the last of the population of Slenisford.


	47. Chapter 47 Prelude To An Accident

'Right,' Kelso said, 'let's see what the matter is here.'

'If you must.' Alaster tried to sound enthusiastic. He failed.

Alaster was sat on a bed in the infirmary, aboard the strike cruiser _Angeren's Wrath_. The Thunderhawks had docked there less than an hour ago. The _Wrath_ was named for one of the Chapter's first warriors, a half-mythical figure from nearly fifty centuries previously. In the corner of the infirmary was a statue of Brother-Captain Angeren, chainsword in hand and stood on top of a pile of dead Dark Eldar, as he would have been at the Third Battle of Cintheres, when his squad's heroic last stand had held the xeno forces off long enough for the reinforcements to crush them. Votive candles were grouped around the base of the statue. It was common practise to leave offerings for the wounded at its feet – it was said that Angeren could intercede with the Emperor for the injured. Chapter legends held many claims of miracle healings affected after the deposition of an offering. The statue was a symbol of fortitude, which was held to be appropriate for a place of medical treatment.

Kelso looked at his foot. 'Well, that's certainly not hanging right, is it? Okay, let's have a look what's lurking in here.' She took hold of the blue-black sabaton.

Alaster kept his eyes on the polished Deltan granite as the Tech-priest set to removing the armoured boot. The infirmary was a busy place. Alaster realised that his squad wasn't the only one with injuries. The place smelt of disinfectant and industrial polish, with a faint, spicy overtone from the votive offerings. Overhead, as ever aboard spacecraft, the ventilation hummed quietly.

There was a click. Alaster felt his sabaton move. Pain flared through his foot. Stabbing, throbbing spikes of fire jabbed into the tissue. It hurt! He grunted.

The Tech-priest looked up, her mechanical eye glowing redly inside her hood. 'You felt that, didn't you?' she said. She was looking straight into his eyes. His helmet was sat on the bed next to him. His weapons were stowed on a rack next to him. Alaster's fingers felt empty without them.

'No!' Alaster declared hotly.

The red eye stared at him, sceptical and unblinking.

Somewhat embarrassed, he admitted, 'Yes. A bit.'

There was a pause. 'A bit. I see. Well, let's get this thing off and see what mangled horror awaits us, then.'

With a twist of her hand, she finished unlocking the armoured boot from his greave. Gently, she removed it.

'Oh my,' Magos Kelso said.

'It's nothing,' Alaster said hurriedly, trying not to wince at the pain.

'Nothing? Look at it!'

He tried not to, but it was impossible to resist. The good news was that his foot was still there. The bad news was that, without the sabaton holding it in place, it was hanging off at the wrong angle. The ankle was red, puffy and swollen. Its taught surface bulged like an angry pinkish-purple grapefruit.

'I, uh, twisted it,' he said lamely.

'Did you now,' the Tech-Priest sighed. 'All the effort we put into your wonderful bodies, and look what you go and do with them! Frankly, I wonder some days why I bother.'

'It'll be fine-'

'I'm not so sure. No don't move – and consider that an order!'

Right now, as she was his doctor; she could give him orders here in the infirmary. Alaster sat still, trying to ignore the throbbing in his ankle. He scanned around the infirmary, trying to distract himself. It was a big room, patterned with columns and a vaulted ceiling, in the style of the Ravenholme back on Delta. Vaulted ceilings didn't really make much sense in structural terms for a starship, however they did give the injured a sense of the familiar, and the Chapter considered that important. The infirmary was dotted with beds, with surgical curtains hung from railings around them. Banks of machinery sat here and there, cogitators and monitors and other less-identifiable instruments. Many of them were marked with the skull-and-cog of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Little votive candles sat here and there, offering burning praises to the Machine-God. Alaster shivered slightly when he saw them – offerings to something other than the Emperor didn't quite seem right, somehow, for all that this was sanctioned and accepted by the Imperium.

He looked at the walls instead. To inspire the recovery of wounded brothers, the walls had been painted with glorious scenes from the Chapter's history. The walls glowed with the rich colours of the oil paints. Alaster tried to concentrate on those, scenes of battles and great victories from centuries past. As his eyes scanned across the paintings, people came and went through the large chamber, a constant low-level flow of Tech-Priests and doctors. The place was filled with the beeping of instrumentation and a quiet humming of conversation. He tried to keep himself distracted with it.

His foot still hurt, though.

Kelso was back. She was holding a scanner of some sort. It was a paddle-shaped device, with glowing lights along the back and a readout on the front. Like much of the other equipment, it was marked with the skull-and-cog. She looked at him, briefly. 'Good,' she said, 'you're still here.'

She ran the scanner over his ankle. It started beeping.

'Oh dear,' she said.

The beeping got louder and more manic.

'Oh, that will never do,' she said.

There was a loud double beep.

'Oh my, look at that!' she said.

'What is it?' Alaster asked.

'You haven't twisted it,' she said.

'Haven't I?'

'No. It's a bit worse, I'm afraid. And that's probably why it hurts so much.' She looked straight at him. 'You won't tell me, I'm sure, but I'm guessing you're in agony.'

His ankle throbbed. He tried to ignore it.

'What's the matter?' Alaster repeated, feeling uneasy and also irritated. And also in pain. His ankle hadn't gotten any happier in the last few minutes. In fact, now that it was no longer contained by the sabaton, it felt even worse. Shooting, fiery pains kept stabbing through his leg. They came and went in waves, along with his pulse.

He breathed deeply, trying to concentrate on the scent of the votive candles.

'You've got a compound fracture,' she replied. 'That block that you said fell on you? Well it's pretty much wrecked the joint.'

Alaster stared. 'But I stayed on it for the rest of the fight!'

'Yes. You stayed on it because you're a psychotic Space Marine, and you don't know when to stop.' There was a pause and Alaster heard a whir. A silvery tendril of some sort snaked out from the sleeve of her robe. It appeared from below the hand that held the scanner. Before Alaster could react, it shot past him. He heard a click and felt weird for a moment. A burst of nausea and a feeling of dislocation – it went as soon as it came.

'What did you just do?' he asked.

'I'm just downloading some data from your Carapace,' she said, sounding distracted.

Alaster risked a glance past his shoulder. Sure enough, the shiny tendril had plugged itself into his backpack. 'I always wondered what that socket was for,' he said. 'By the way, next time you do that, could you tell me first? That was just a bit creepy.'

'Whatever,' she said. There was a click and the tendril withdrew. 'You were able to keep fighting because you were walking on your suit, basically. The greave was taking all the weight, not the bone. And that's probably just as well, or the leg'd be ripped up beyond repair. We'd have to take it off. Luckily for you, your armour kept the leg in alignment. If it weren't for that, you'd have shards of bone sticking out. Blood everywhere, too. Ripped tendons, mangled muscles, a right mess. As it is you've got some torn ligaments and a nicely-cracked bone. Oh, and there's more.'

'Is there?' Alaster asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

'You got hit by a load more debris, didn't you?'

'How did you know?'

'We're going to have to get you out of that suit,' she replied. 'The data. You've got a scary amount of bruises all over you. Oh, and a nasty case of internal bleeding. You've been properly beaten up, Battle-Brother.'

Alaster stared. One of the votive candles crackled, the flame spitting at some impurity in the wax. Overhead, the ceiling vents whirred onward. 'I thought our bodies were supposed to take care of this stuff?'

The mechanical eye fixed him with an ornery glare. 'Something you should realise, Brother Alaster. The internal bleeding you've got – an unmodified human would have died from it before the firefight ended. As it is, you're sitting up and complaining, and you walked here under your own power. You shouldn't have done, granted, but you did. And that leg I mentioned? A normal human taking an injury like that will be out for the count – probably for months. There'd be a good chance the limb would need amputating. They might never walk again.

'Now you're amazing body is doing what it can, but it's been properly kicked about. It's got a lot of damage to repair. And by not coming here sooner, frankly, you've made it worse. Do you how many marines we lose to treatable injuries? It's a depressingly large number. If you'd just ask for help when you need it … but no!' She sighed. 'You're not taking this in, are you? I shouldn't be surprised, should I? As I've said before, I'm a cranky old woman and no-one listens to me. Least of all Space Marines.'

Alaster sat still during her tirade. When Kelso had finally run out of bile, he said, 'What about Patreus? How is he?'

'Worse than you,' Kelso said grimly. 'At least you're conscious. Even if it does mean I have to listen to you complaining about my handiwork. No, Patreus is going to be in here longer than you. That plasma blast? It was bit too close. His armour absorbed most of the heat, but not all of it. Also the electrical surge damaged the cooling system. He got just a bit hot in there. Burns, all down one side of his body. And then there's the blunt trauma, you know, from being batted out of the air by the shockwave. He's got some broken bones too. Internal bleeding as well. The good news is we don't think he has any brain damage, and he's still breathing unaided. And no punctured lungs, thank goodness. But he won't be waking up any time soon – and that's probably no bad thing, given how badly he's hurting.'

Alaster peered around the ward. He couldn't see Patreus anywhere. 'Where is he?' Alaster asked.

'The next ward,' she replied. 'You don't want to see him right now. He's got tubes out of every orifice. It doesn't look pretty.' Praise the Emperor, she actually sounded concerned! Alaster boggled. Kelso spoilt the moment by adding, 'And frankly, he smells bad too. I know you lot have busy lives, but it would be an idea if you could remember to shower a bit more often, you know.'

Alaster glanced down at the eagle on his breastplate. It occurred to him that he wasn't entirely sure when the last time he hadn't been wearing this armour had been. He had definitely washed his face and his hands in that time, but…

'Um,' he said.

'Yes, you're probably a bit fragrant too,' she agreed. 'We'll need a few more of those incense candles.' She pointed at the votive offerings by the statue. 'They double as air-fresheners, you know.'

He wanted to change the subject, as this talk of bad smells was a bit uncomfortable. A thought occurred to him. 'That Type II stuff … what about that?'

'The adaptation disorder?' Kelso shrugged. 'Depends on whether you actually have it or not, which still isn't proved.'

'But that dream … we all had that!'

'There's more than one way to get a shared hallucination.' She shrugged. 'Social cues, pheromones, chemical exposure, diet, exposure to similar stressful conditions … it can all trend in the same direction. The dream you had – it used religious imagery that all of you would have been familiar with. And anyway, we can't be sure you all did have _exactly_ the same dream, not without cross-checking the contents of your heads. There may have been plenty of little differences.'

'I'm hearing a lot of maybes and ifs. What if we do have the Type II thing?'

'You'll still heal. It won't interfere with that – at least not until Stage Three. And if you do have Type II – well, there's not a lot we can do about that right here, right now. I propose to deal with what we can help. Now, talking of which I'm afraid I need a good look at all those bruises you've picked up…'

Alaster gritted his teeth. He had a feeling the next few hours weren't going to be pleasant.

He wasn't disappointed. Magos Kelso and the other medical staff spent some time poking and prodding him. He was given various drugs, including something for the pain. Kelso explained that you couldn't give it to normal humans – apparently this super-potent concoction would be immediate death for any un-enhanced liver. It didn't do much more than dull the throb into an ache, and even that relief didn't last long. It seemed that Alaster's super-powered body was very good at getting rid of chemical manipulators – maybe a bit too good, sometimes.

Alaster realised he was going to be relying on his high pain threshold for some time.

Finally they were done with him. The drugs seemed to have helped his body take care of the internal bleeding. A fresh scan revealed no new internal leaks, and the existing ones were staunching themselves quite nicely. Kelso looked reluctantly pleased.

Alaster found his leg splinted into an elaborate apparatus that would hold all the bones in place for healing. The splint arrangement was powered. He could walk on it, and it would carry the weight instead of his leg. It ran on some of the same technology as his armour. Disturbingly, it was plugged into one of the organic sockets in his Black Carapace. The motors ran off of his nervous system, rather than an independent guidance system. It allowed for better co-ordination this way.

It did make sense, but seeing a cable jacked into his abdomen was a strange experience. Alaster knew that they were perfectly normal and holy for Space Marines, but seeing them exposed like this still felt weird. He could remember quite clearly what his chest had looked like beforehand and it was very different now. More muscular, for starters.

Also, there was a little, superstitious part of his brain that kept whispering that _this isn't what humans look like…_ He did his best to squelch that thought, though.

A trip to the infirmary shower room got rid of what the doctors had privately taken to calling 'that marine-smell'. (They didn't realise just how good Alaster's ears were, apparently. While he was being treated earlier, he had amused himself by listening in to their supposedly-private gossip from the next corridor.) Hot water streamed around him, hissing and tinkling from the showerhead. It filled the cubicle with swirling steam. A vent in the ceiling above rumbled steadily, pulling the humid air back into the ship's life-system for re-processing.

Alaster found that he enjoyed the shower, although he didn't like the amount of the amount of dirty water that was spiralling down the plughole. It kept going for some time, a brownish whirl around his feet. Maybe Kelso had a point, he thought.

As he showered he finally got a good look at his battered body. Now that the drugs and therapies were taking effect, the bruises were shrinking and fading. However, there were still lots of them. Her assessment had been spot on, he realised. The squad had been beaten up nice and properly.

Finally the spinning water was clean and pure. Alaster supposed he was as clean as he was going to get. He tapped the button to end the shower. The hiss of water died and the falling cascade ceased. The last dregs of steam drifted up into the extractor.

Once the shower was over and Alaster had finished towelling himself off, Alaster shrugged his way into a Chapter-colour robe. It was the sort of thing a Raven might wear when 'off-duty', whenever that might actually happen. It felt a bit odd, although it was a Chapter-sanctioned uniform and Alaster had been informed in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be combat-ready for at least a few more days.

With the motor-splint whirring at his side beneath the robe and his walk an awkward limp, Alaster headed out of the shower room. He walked back through the infirmary, resolutely ignoring the twinges from his leg. He paused at his bed, retrieving his bolt pistol. The robe had a loop hanging down from the belt, specifically for the gun. He slid it into place. It hung there, silent and ready.

Alaster might not be combat-ready, but he was still a Space Marine. He wasn't going anywhere without his gun, even just as far as the next ward. Now that he was armed again, Alaster felt a bit reassured. He turned and walked toward the door to the next ward.

Kelso had said he shouldn't go and see Patreus, but she hadn't specifically ordered him not to. And Alaster wasn't going to sit here and just ignore one of his squadmates in their hour of need. There wasn't anything actually useful that Alaster could do – he knew that – but he felt that at least being there was something in of itself.

He found his way through to the next ward. Kelso had been right, he saw immediately. Patreus was in a bad way. He was laid out on his back on one of the beds, a sheet pulled up to his neck. Various lumps and bumps under the sheet revealed the locations of monitors, IVs and other medical apparatus. A snake-nest of pipes and cables emerged from the bed, tangling over to a back of machinery. A single, cog-marked votive candle sat on a flat surface amongst the monitors and machinery. It smoked and spat, adding a heavy incense smell to the air. It cast an unsteady orange light over the apparatus.

Alaster looked back at Patreus. Untidy auburn hair was tangled around his head. His skin had gone very pale. The freckles stood out sharply. It gave Patreus a sickly, mottled appearance. One side of his face was marked by a large burn-plaster. It covered most of the cheek. Apart from a slight movement of his chest, and a pulse near his temple, he was quite still.

'Doesn't look good, does he?' a voice said.

Alaster twitched, hand reaching for his bolt pistol. But he recognised Nasty. His hand slipped back down.

'No, he doesn't,' Alaster agreed. He looked over his shoulder.

Nasty had entered through the door behind Alaster, just moments ago. Being the only one of Alaster's team to avoid serious injury, Nasty was wearing his armour. It needed a clean, Alaster noted. Nasty was still smeared with dust from the collapsed wall. He had the helmet tucked under one arm and his other was rested on top of his axe. It was hung from a belt hoop.

'I was on my way to the range,' Nasty said. 'Target practise time. But I wanted to look in. On Patreus.'

Alaster nodded. 'Me too. He's pretty beaten up.'

Nasty looked at him. 'You don't look too good yourself.'

Alaster shrugged. 'I'll live.' He pointed at his leg. 'And I've acquired a free shiny metal thing, so I guess I can't complain.' He waved his hand at the part of the apparatus that surrounded his foot, a mass of silvery struts and tightly-cinched straps.

Nasty saw it and didn't look amused. 'That's not really good, Brother.'

The attempt at humour had fallen flat. Alaster nodded and sighed. 'Yeah. It isn't really, no.'

Nasty looked back at Patreus. One of the monitors beeped quietly in the background. 'What's his condition?'

'He's a mess, but they think he'll live,' Alaster replied. 'It's a good sign that Apothecary Ryantun's moved on. If he doesn't think he's needed here, then that's got to be good, right?'

Nasty nodded. 'I suppose so. How long before he wakes up?'

'They reckon a couple of days,' Alaster said. 'Magos Kelso was talking about drugging him so he stays under for longer.'

'You seem to know a lot about this.'

'While they were doing stuff to my leg, the medics got to chattering.' Alaster shrugged. 'Either they thought I should know, or they don't give a fig about confidentiality. Who knows?'

'Not me.' Nasty shrugged.

'So what's going on in the outside world, beyond the ward?'

Alaster had been in the infirmary almost from the moment the Thunderhawks had docked aboard the strike cruiser. In spite of the Magos's cranky remarks, Kodos had sent him here as soon as they were off of the ramp. It had been several hours, and Alaster was out of the news loop.

Nasty looked around Patreus's section of the ward. 'They've loaded the Slenisfordians onto the evacuation ships,' he said. 'Most of them are on their way to Majoris already. You know that lot outside the station? Well, the propaganda skakkers are swarming over them like flies on a corpse. They're going to have a field-day with all of that.'

'Any news from Minoris?'

'I hear Lady Sharrow's still trying to raise the economy from the dead, or whatever it is she's doing. Looks like they're not having much luck. It's still skakked. I guess, it's easier to skak up then to fix. And I suppose the evacuation's still going on. I guess we'd have heard if anything changed there.'

'What about the war itself?'

Nasty shrugged. 'I suppose there's still people shooting and stuff.'

'That's not really very informative. I could have guessed that much, you know.'

'I don't really know anymore. Except that we might get to see some more of it. Apparently there's going to be action soon.'

'Really?'

'Yes. I overheard some skak-talk, about something big coming in with the Nid ships. The Navy want a closer look at it, apparently. They think it might be important.'

'What sort of big thing?'

Nasty shrugged. 'A Nid ship, maybe? Who knows.' He looked back at Patreus. 'Anyway apparently they're going to shoot at it and see what it does.'

Alaster laughed. 'Reconnaissance by fire – it's the most fun!'

'We'll get a good view from this ship, whatever happens,' Nasty said.

Alaster looked around the quiet ward. He didn't see anyone else there.

'We won, didn't we?' Nasty said.

'What do you mean?' Alaster asked.

'On the planet, you know, at Slenisford.'

Alaster considered it. 'Well we got the people out. We accomplished the objective, if that's what you mean.'

'But we left it full of xenos.'

'We managed the objective,' Alaster repeated. 'No-one told us to hold it at all costs.'

'Leaving it full of aliens doesn't seem right,' Nasty said.

Nasty was correct. It didn't feel right. Leaving the town under the control of the Bugs did feel wrong. Alaster couldn't help an image of them, defiantly waving their claws at the retreating Thunderhawks. And he realised that he was thinking of the pull-out as a retreat, as if they'd been driven out, not as a voluntary leaving. They'd achieved the basic parameters of the mission, but it still felt like a failure.

Up ahead, the ventilation fans spun, whirring quietly. Alaster breathed deeply, smelling the air. It was cooler and clearer in this room, with a faint antiseptic scent. It didn't have the pungent undertone of incense present in the other ward. Alaster looked back at Patreus. If you wanted to be technical about it, he supposed, they had a victory. But it didn't feel like one and it had come at some cost.

'We turned tail and ran,' Nasty said, 'and the place is full of skakking bugs!'

Nasty was saying things that had occurred to Alaster. But hearing them from someone else wasn't helping his mood. It wasn't helping at all.

'No we didn't,' Alaster growled, suddenly feeling angry. 'We followed our orders and we did our duty.'

'So is that all we have to show for this?' Nasty said. 'An injured Brother and nothing else? That's skakky.'

Alaster shrugged. 'Get used to it. This is what our lives are going to be like, from now until we die. It isn't always parades and drunken celebrations, you know.' He was talking as much to himself as to Nasty.

'Right now,' Nasty said, 'getting drunk sounds like a good idea.'

'I thought you were going to the shooting range.'

'Then I'll get drunk later, won't I? What about you? What are you doing?'

Alaster looked at his damaged leg. 'For the time being, nothing,' he said. 'And you have no idea how frustrating that is.'

Four days had passed.

Alaster was back on his feet again. The swelling had come down and his ankle was no longer so technicolour, either. The bruising was beginning to subside, thank the Emperor. His bones were beginning to knit at last. There was no more sign of any internal bleeding. He was relieved to be on the road to recovery. If he was experiencing any form of Type II complication, it was so subtle as to be non-existent.

This morning, Kelso had decided to take off the mechanical splint. With some adjustment to the servomotor settings, he'd been allowed to substitute his power armour for the splint. It was good to be properly back in uniform. Kelso had agreed that the leg of the suit could adequately support his damaged ankle. She still wasn't ready to sign Alaster off for combat duty, but at least he could walk apparently-unaided again.

Alaster had found the last few days the most boring in many months.

He had found the sudden, enforced inactivity of the infirmary hard to cope with. There had been a copy of one of the Imperial Catechisms in the draw in the cabinet next to his bed, but it was a book he was already wholly-familiar with. It was the very same one that he'd had to learn at school. In the end Alaster had managed to get his hands on a copy of a tourist guide to the Minorian System. It was hilariously out of date – the electronic copy on the slate declared it to be from the previous century – and really of use only as a historical document. Still, having that to read had just about stopped him going mad.

This morning, Kodos had paid a visit. Alaster had then made the capital mistake of complaining about being bored. He was realising now that he should really have known better – moaning about not being busy enough in front of your commanders was a quick route to trouble.

So Alaster now found himself stood on the bridge of the _Wrath_. He was stood there fully-armed, chainsword in one hand and pistol in the other, trying to look alert. It was just as well no-one could see his face, he supposed. He dreaded to think how bored he must look by now.

By long-standing Chapter convention, every strike cruiser merited a Raven honour guard. The Chapter felt it important the human flight crews should be aware that their work was appreciated, and having Storm Ravens aboard was one way to show it. Of course, operational requirements would mean that most marines would be on infantry duty at any time, so it was unusual for the honour guard to be more than a couple of brothers.

Kodos reasoned that all the honour guardsmen actually did was stand there and look big and imposing. He figured that even, as he sarcastically put it, a 'damaged' marine could manage that much. Theoretically, of course, if anything should attack the bridge crew it was the guard's duty to take it down – but the likelihood of an attack in here was fairly low. So, now that Alaster could sort-of stand and until Kelso wrote him off to fight, he was on honour guard duty aboard the _Wrath_. He and Nasty were currently taking turns guarding the bridge, on an eighteen-hour rotation.

It turned out that honour guard duty consisted of long stretches on the bridge, standing still at the back by the main door. And that, basically, was it. Alaster had already been up here seven hours, and he was even more bored than he had been in the infirmary. He was thoroughly regretting opening his big mouth.

The bridge was a large, semicircular space. The far wall was a vast screen, spilt into three main sections, a wide central bit and two narrower side-screens. The central screen was the highest. The wall-space above the other two was filled with two big, gold Imperial eagles. The surrounds of the screens were styled to look like the embrasures of gothic cathedral windows, complete with arched tops. There were even little details like small gargoyles and decorative skulls, crafted into the fake stonework. Like the infirmary, the bridge also had an arched and vaulted ceiling, again for reasons of morale more than industrial practicality. The effect was spoilt somewhat by the circular bank of arc lights that ringed the top of the vault. The lights cast a bright, actinic white glow over the scene below.

In the centre of the room was the captain's throne. Behind it and on either side it was flanked by the navigators' pods, just like the two creepy black ovoids from the _Nevermore_. Unlike those, these ones were open and inactive, revealing the chairs inside. Various bits of disturbing-looking life-support apparatus were bolted onto them. Alaster didn't speculate too hard on what some of those bits and pieces might do.

The captain's throne and the navigator-pods were positioned on top of a central dais, raised about six inches off the floor. Beyond that the actual consoles and work-stations were grouped around the walls. Their screens all pointed back toward the centre, so that the captain could see everything that was going on in his control room. Many of the consoles were dotted with little votive offerings, candles and beads and little carved-stone aquilae.

The grand door behind Alaster went halfway up the wall. Above it, the Chapter's lightning-bearing raven was painted proudly, so that it watched over everyone who entered or left the bridge. And lots of people did. The place was a hive of activity. Crewmen and women kept filing in and out, bringing refreshments or relieving those posted at their consoles. Several Tech-priests were dotted around the room, in their distinctive red robes. They carried large censers, filled with pungent incense. They kept swinging them in a slow and elaborate series of movements, ones that seemed to be tied to the movement of the ship in some way. Alaster watched them, idly trying to puzzle out what the sequence was. He knew they were here to propitiate the Machine-God, in search of good technological fortune in this most technologically-intensive of places. The scent of the incense gave the air a heady undertone. Alaster was glad of the filters in his helmet – he wondered how the bridge crew managed to concentrate past the thick smell. You could almost get high off it!

The bridge was a continual hum of noise. People talking into headsets, seat bearings squeaking, buttons clicking, the clink of the incense-censer chains as they swung and the ever-present hum of the air systems. The place had a sense of nervous energy hanging over it, of focus and concentration. They were technically on low alert, but there was a sense that battle-readiness was never more then moments away. Alaster found the disciplined scene reassuring, and a refreshing change from the disarray and incompetence he and his brothers had so-often had to cope with on Minoris itself.

Images were scrolling across the main screen. Nasty's vague words about some sort of operation were proving prescient. There was a lot of activity centred on one particular target. It was there, in the middle of the screen, marked with a bright red ring. Alaster peered at the thing. It was somewhat potato-shaped. Its surface was half-lit and half-shadowed, the hemispheres separated by a sharp terminator. The night side was an inky black, the daylight side was a mottled greyish purple. It was lined with what looked like bulging veins and pods, some of which looked vaguely sensory and some of which might have been feeding or spawning orifices. Alaster regarded it with righteous distaste. It was obviously a Tyranid vessel of some kind. He hadn't seen one quite like it before, though he was hardly an expert on alien spacecraft.

A lot of people on the bridge were talking about it. He listened in on one of the nearby crews.

'…arrived a week ago,' he heard one of them, a woman comms tech, say to her immediate neighbour at the next console. 'It came in at high angle to the ecliptic – that's why no-one saw it sooner.'

The sensor technician on the next console over shook her head. She spoke with a Colvin accent, Alaster noted. It shouldn't really surprise him, but it was interesting to be aware of someone else from his hometown out here. She said, 'It's pretty big. Fifty clicks across. About as dense as water. And basically solid, we think. Living tissue, I guess. More xeno foulness.'

'What are all those rings?' the comms tech asked.

'Craters, we think,' the sensor lady said.

Alaster stared closer at the image, and blinked in surprise. They were right. The Nid ship did have craters, here and there! Its surface was pockmarked with a scattering of circular depressions of various sizes. As he looked at it, he readjusted the scale in his head. It was fifty kilometres across, apparently. It was big!

'Craters?' the comms tech sounded surprised. 'How?'

'Lots,' the sensors lady said. 'Its surface is pretty cold. There's a theory that's their mother-ship. You know, one of the things that came here. From outside.'

'Outside? You mean, the galaxy?'

From the corner of his eye, Alaster noted the sensor lady nod her head. He wondered if they realised they were being eavesdropped on by a marine. Probably not, although they definitely would be able to see him from where they were sat.

The second speaker nodded. 'Yes. The Tech-priests think that's where it got the craters from – bits of dust, the odd rock or two, every now and then, as it moved between galaxies. It would have taken a long time.'

'How long?' the comms tech asked, sounding disturbed.

The sensor tech shrugged. 'Depends where the Bugs actually come from. They say, the next big galaxy is the Sea of Andromeda. And apparently, the light that's just getting here today left it more then two million years ago.'

Alaster tried to imagine that, and he failed completely. A journey that took light millions of years. A journey that would have started before Humanity's ancestors came down from Terra's long-vanished trees. Millions of years, spent in the lightless, cold depths between the galaxies … it was beyond his grasp. Deep time. If not eternity, exactly, then certainly the next best thing. A voyage long enough that the Galaxy itself would have visibly-turned by the end of the journey - he shivered superstitiously. The very idea of travelling beyond the Galaxy seemed wrong, somehow. Even the Ancients, those fearlessly-insane techno-pagan anarchists of more than a dozen millennia past, hadn't dared those gulfs.

The door behind Alaster irised open. He heard the grumble-whir of the motors as they withdrew the segments into the golden annulus of the doorframe. The annulus was decorated with Gothic-script engravings of the names of the Chapter's greatest engagements over the centuries. It was dense with them, all the way around the wide ring. When he had arrived on the bridge, he had taken a long surreptitious look at it.

He heard feet step over the ring. They scraped on the decking. For a moment the sounds of the bridge fell as people noted the new arrivals.

'Welcome to the bridge, my Lady,' he heard the voice of Captain Lakon say.

'Thak you, Brother-Captain.' Alaster recognised Lady Sharrow.

He heard feet on the decking. Then several familiar figures walked past him. Somewhat to his irritation, if not his surprise, they didn't spare him a backward glance. Alaster banged his breastplate in salute anyway. Lady Sharrow was accompanied by Sergeant Kodos and the captain. Alaster noted that Lakon was still wearing his Terminator suit, although he'd removed the helmet. It looked like he'd come from a fight. His armour was smeared with blotches of greyish-brown dust and there was what looked like an alien ichor stain splashed along one of his greaves.

They walked toward the captain's chair. The ship's captain respectfully saluted the Space Marine captain; Lakon acknowledged the salute. 'At ease,' he said. To the rest of the bridge crew, he added, 'Don't mind us. Go about your duty.'

Lady Sharrow was peering at the screen. She looked drawn, Alaster noted. A couple of stray hairs drifted away from her head. There were deep bags under her eyes. And was it just his eyes playing up, or was there a suspicious bulge underneath her robe, right where she'd kept the flask before? This bulge was larger – quite a bit larger. If Alaster's guess was correct, there was less of a flask and more of a bottle in there.

'This is it,' he heard Lakon say. The captain indicated the screen. He pointed a finger of his power fist right at the alien potato-shape.

'So that's our interloper,' Lady Sharrow said. 'It's definitely not an asteroid?'

'Definitely,' Lakon agreed. 'You can tell by looking, really. And it's spent the last few days manoeuvring itself onto a solar orbit. Asteroids aren't noted for their powerful engines.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'True. And it's now in solar orbit?'

Lakon nodded. 'Yes, my Lady. Thirty-five clicks per second, just slightly further out than the two planets.'

'Same velocity, same ellipsoid,' Lady Sharrow mused. 'Same orbit, close enough. So it's shadowing the Riothrian binary.'

'It's close now,' Lakon said. 'About one point eight million clicks further out from the suns.'

Lady Sharrow raised an eyebrow. 'And the planets are separated by what? Point nine million clicks?'

Lakon nodded. 'It's hanging at two pair-radii, yes. You can see it on the right screen.' He pointed one of the two sidescreens.

Alaster looked. At the bottom was a diagram of the inner part of the Riothria system. The stellar binary was in the middle. There was a big gap to the first of the inner planets, a barren, lifeless, star-scorched ball of rock called Estrin. Its orbit was marked with a blue circle. There was a smaller gap to the next blue circle, which marked the mutual orbit of the Riothria planetary binary itself. A much smaller blue epicycle marked the radius of the planetary binary itself. And then, outside of both orbit and epicycle was a dashed purple ring. The projected orbit of the intruder. It wasn't actually trailing, Alaster noticed. It was actually preceding the two planets slightly.

'They're getting cocky,' Kodos growled. He added quickly, 'Your pardon, my Lord, your Ladyship.'

Lady Sharrow waved it away. 'You're right, Brother-Sergeant. They are indeed getting cocky. This will never do. We need to crack down on this. I won't accept mockery from a Bug.'

'The Tech-priests have a theory,' Lakon said. 'They think this is-'

'-the mothership, yes,' Lady Sharrow agreed. 'I've heard. Presumably the hive-mind pulled the deep-freeze trick again. No infrared signature. I suppose that's why we didn't spot this behemoth sooner.'

'That and the fact we've been distracted by all the fighting,' Lakon said diplomatically. 'And the satellite net is a wreck. The space battles have put a lot of debris into orbit. It's knocked out a lot of our satellites. And we've focused most of the ones we have left on the planetary situation, not deep-space runs.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Yes, of course. Brother-Captain. I was merely observing, not criticising. I assure you, I am aware of our strategic situation. Our resources are getting stretched just a bit.'

'To say the least,' Lakon agreed. 'On the subject, what is the situation on the ground? We don't get a full picture, as we keep having to hop from fight to fight.'

Lady Sharrow shrugged. 'Probably as good as can be expected, given that the economy's collapsed and the planet is under a death sentence. Riots, violence, looting, lynchings and martial law. Most of the towns are burning and there are mobs roaming the countryside. On the plus side, we've managed to get the power back on in Albatross. I threatened to put the power company employees at the back of the evac list! And what do you know, they all magically turned up for work that afternoon.'

'Funny, that,' Lakon said. 'I suppose it shows the advantage of a firm approach, though.'

'Quite. But anyway, the mess doesn't seem to have upset the evacuation as much as I feared. In fact, believe it or not, we're actually ahead of schedule.'

'Really?' Lakon sounded surprised.

'Yes. We've already shipped out eleven and a half million people. Apparently the new Board-member on Majoris is only too happy to help the Inquisition. It turns out the Board had some extra ships tucked away that – would you believe? – they hadn't mentioned to the Administratum. Something about extra tax, so I understand.'

'Oh right,' Lakon sounded cynical. 'Weren't keen on paying the rates, were they?'

'Apparently not, no. Anyway they offered me the ships. Since they were being so friendly and helpful, I wrote them a lovely little pardon, you know, for the previous indiscretion. They even supplied the crews. It's a surprise – the government on Majoris has almost managed to make itself _useful_, would you believe?'

'Wonders will never cease,' Lakon said cynically. 'The most I was hoping for was for them not to be an active impediment.'

'And having some extra ships is really helping,' Lady Sharrow added. 'It does make a difference. If we can get the planet cleared ahead of schedule … well, that would give us a bit more breathing-space.'

Lakon looked at the main screen. The vast alien ship sat there, inert but also strangely malign. There was something sinister about its veined and bulbous alien contours. Alaster didn't like it. Nor did the Brother-Captain, apparently. He said, 'Of course, having that thing turn up is going to complicate the evacuation. It's got its own xeno fleet with it – look, just there!'

A speck was moving across the lumpy disc. No, it wasn't a speck, Alaster realised – it was a Nid bio-ship! One of the side-screens zoomed in on it, confirming his suspicion. The alien vessel looked minute compared to the vast mothership. It cast a tiny, perfectly-sharp shadow on the cratered and lumpy hide of the alien leviathan.

Lady Sharrow inhaled sharply. 'Well,' she said, 'it puts that monstrosity's size in perspective.'

'So it does,' Lakon agreed. 'They don't do anything small, do they? And it demonstrates that we can't just ignore this filthy thing.'

'So what is the plan for today?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'The Navy is going to send a couple of ships in, test the defences,' Lakon explained. 'They're not planning on a serious engagement today, but we need to know what's waiting for us.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Okay, that sounds sensible. And the Astartes ships?'

'We're here for back-up,' Lakon said, 'just in case things go wrong. We've thrashed this out with the Navy. It's their operation. We won't be involved unless they ask for us. Best not to tread on their toes too much!'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Okay, fair enough.'

Suddenly, with remarkable bluntness, Lakon said, 'My Lady – forgive me, but why are you here? In person, I mean.'

'The same as you.' Lady Sharrow shrugged. 'Information. This is a new development. I need to see what's going on, with my own eyes. Don't worry - I shan't interfere! You know your jobs. I just want to see where the die land on this one.'

Lakon looked at the screen. 'You'll know soon enough. The Navy ships will setting out in a few minutes.'


	48. Chapter 48 Thirty Hours

Alaster found himself in the unfamiliar position of watching a battle but not being part of it. It was odd. He felt vaguely superfluous. It wasn't entirely welcome.

The Navy cruisers approached the Tyranid behemoth slowly and carefully. They were marked on the right screen as two yellow triangles. The Nid mothership, if that was what it was, was marked with a blinking purple icon.

As the Navy ships moved out, the comms techs fed through a feed from their tactical relays. Lightspeed delay was on the order of a few seconds, increasing as the ships moved out, but it was as close to real time as could be managed under the current circumstances. Voices spoke over the speakers, crackling with interference and static. There was a steady stream of operational chatter, as the crews relayed information.

As the feed began, the sounds of the bridge quietened. Many ears were listening in and a sense of tension built. Alaster found himself gripping his weapons harder, unconsciously preparing himself for an attack. He noted the odd nervous glance cast in his direction, crew faces looking slightly reassured as they noted the vigilant presence of the Space Marine. It seemed there was some morale value in his presence after all!

Still, Alaster felt the growing tension too. At one point he tensed his recovering leg too much, and he was rewarded with a sharp stab of pain. He carefully un-tensed the muscle.

Kodos, Lakon and the Inquisitor remained by the captain's throne. The two Space Marines watched the screen impassively, but Alaster noticed Lady Sharrow quietly reach into her robe. His suspicion was proved – she removed a metallic bottle. He heard something slosh as she took a deep gulp. Her face was set in a calm mask, but there were definitely tense lines around her eyes.

A kind of quiet settled over the bridge. The main sounds now were the faint, repetitive whine of the air systems and the voices talking over the speakers.

'Closing on Bug One,' one of them reported. 'Bug One' was the Navy's somewhat-unimaginative code for the gigantic vessel. 'Range fifty thousand clicks. Repeat, range five zero kay. No contacts.'

The second ship reported in. 'Range five six kay. No contacts here either.' The second ship was hanging somewhat behind the first one, and off to the side.

Alaster peered at the screen. There were now a lot of satellite-points around the main Tyranid ship, but the alien ships weren't firing.

'What are they playing at?' Lady Sharrow said quietly, staring at the screen. Her brow was furrowed. 'Why aren't they firing?'

'Advance confirmed,' the lead ship announced. 'Moving forward. Will hold at four five kay, repeat, will hold-'

The voice cut off. In the middle of the main screen, a silent blossom of white light appeared. It billowed out, unfolding petals of glowing plasma and debris. Then its edges reddened and began to fade, curling in on itself. The voice over the speakers cut off with a brief howl of feedback and then a steady wash of static.

Lady Sharrow stared. 'What's going on? What's happening? Damn it, someone tell me what's going on!' She sounded angry, confused and even a little shrill.

There were flashes of light on the screen, little greenish sparkles here and there, imposed in front of the bulk of the alien ship. Alaster saw a new flash, the whiter light of an Imperial plasma cannon. He realised a fight had broken out. He leaned forward, his interest piqued.

'This is the _Vengeance_,' the other ship's spokesman announced. The man sounded tense. 'There are mines! Repeat, there are mines! There are drifts of mines, orbiting the mothership! We are under attack. Repeat, we are under attack! This is the _Vengeance_, requesting reinforcements-'

His voice broke up in a howl of static.

Alaster stared at the screen. A heavy shooting match was under way. The Imperial ship was being attacked from all sides. He realised they didn't have much time. His hand clenched on the hilt of his chainsword. He felt appalled and frustrated. He was watching the deaths of brave men, stood here uselessly! His breathing was fast and ragged. He could hear the sounds of the bridge all around, chairs creaking, fingers clattering on keyboards and the ventilation above.

He stared, shocked at the screen.

Lakon titled his head, as if listening to something. Alaster noticed an ear-and-mike set on his head, a single earphone sat in one ear. Lakon looked back up. 'The Navy's moving in to engage,' he announced.

'That's mad,' Kodos said. 'What about the mine fields? They have no intel!'

'They'll know where they are soon enough,' Lakon said grimly.

'What's the plan?' Lady Sharrow asked. As if by magic the bottle reappeared. She didn't seem to be aware that she was holding it. Alaster heard the cap screw off and this time he actually heard the contents slosh as she tipped it back.

Her hand was shaking a little, he noticed.

Lakon was still staring at the screen. 'I don't think there is a plan,' he said. 'A full-on attack isn't in the general orders I've seen.'

'What are they thinking of?' Kodos exploded. 'This is insane! They're just going in all guns blazing! This is what the Nids want!'

Lakon nodded. 'You may be right, Brother.'

'It's their pride, isn't it?' Kodos said. 'Their pride's been injured.'

Lakon nodded slowly. 'Admiral Kutuzin can be impetuous sometimes. You could be right, Brother. The Bugs have tricked them into losing a ship, and they're angry.'

'So they're throwing more into harm's way!' Lady Sharrow sounded angry. 'The fools, the utter Emperor-forsaken fools! It's a trap! By the Throne, it's a trap!'

Lakon looked at her. 'What do you mean?'

Lady Sharrow slapped her forehead. 'Why didn't I see this sooner? It's obvious! Why did they choose to reveal their mothership now? It doesn't make sense … unless they've guessed what we're doing! They've seen the evacuation, the trains and the planes and the shuttles! They need the biomass on Minoris, they need to stop us taking it away! And to do that they need to destroy the Navy fleet. So they bring in a nice juicy piece of bait … oh, Emperor help us all! We've been gamed – again!'

Kodos sounded horrified. 'That – by the Emperor, you might be right!'

Lakon nodded, a shocked look in his eyes. 'I think you might just be, my Lady. I wish you weren't, but this has surprise attack written all over it. You think they can take on the Navy?'

Lady Sharrow took another long gulp from the bottle. She screwed the cap on the bottle. 'It wouldn't make much sense to take it on if they didn't think they could.' She put the bottle away. 'You have a direct line?' she asked Lakon.

He nodded.

She held out a hand. 'May I?' she asked pointedly.

With the hand that wasn't inside his power fist, Lakon removed the headset. He passed it to her. She held the earpiece to her ear and spoke into the microphone.

'This is Inquisitor Sharrow. Repeat, this is Inquisitor Sharrow. Pull back – you aren't ready for this!' She paused. 'Damn it, that is an order! What part of the word 'order' don't you understand?'

Then she fell silent for a moment. Alaster saw a spasm of rage wash across her face. She ripped off the headset and threw it to the ground. There was both fire and ice in her eyes. She stared at the headset, with a look composed equally of fury and revulsion. In a deadly quiet voice, she said to it, 'What do you mean, "No"? What is this "no" you speak of?'

Then, with a brutal motion of her foot, she stamped on it. There was a crunch. Bits of plastic sprayed out and there was a quick crackle as some electrics sparked. She looked up. Her mouth was a tight line. She was shaking. Her fists were balled at her sides.

The bridge had fallen silent. A lot of nervous people were watching the tableaux. Suddenly the place smelt, just a little, of sweat and fear.

Lakon, being a Space Marine and thus only knowing of fear through a distant chain of mutual acquaintances, looked straight back at her without flinching. 'Were they … less than helpful, my Lady?'

She opened her mouth. She closed it. She opened it again. Finally she managed to grate some words out past the anger. 'Yes, Brother-Captain. They were indeed less than helpful. In fact, I would go so far as to say that they were _unhelpful. _In fact, they refused an order. They. Refused.'

A tick had started up in her left eyebrow.

'I see,' Lakon said after a moment. 'I suppose they believe that victory will sanctify their actions?'

'They may believe that,' Lady Sharrow agreed coldly. 'Sadly for them, their agreement is mistaken.' She turned her head. Her eyes swept the room. She somehow managed to make eye contact with every watching face. For a moment, her eyes locked right onto Alaster. He actually felt like she was staring straight through his helmet! Her gaze was ice cold and as sharp as a drill. She was so very, very angry. 'And I can give you all my word on this. When this farce has ended, whatever the outcome, I will have words with this admiral. And he will find my words rather painful.'

There was a flash of light on the screen behind them. It was followed in quick succession by another one. Two white explosion-blossoms, expanding silently into the vacuum.

'Two more ships,' the woman sensor tech reported – the same one Alaster had listened in on earlier. 'Both destroyed.'

Lakon looked soberly at the screen. 'Let us just hope the admiral survives to hear your words, my Lady.'

Lady Sharrow looked back at the screen. 'It's looking unlikely, isn't it?'

Another silent white blossom exploded into view.

'What are your orders?' Lakon asked.

She nodded, just a little. Some of the rage subsided, just a bit. 'The Astartes fleet - I want it pulled back to the two planets. We need a defensive cordon. If the Navy asks for help, I am ordering you – repeat, this is an order! – not to respond. The Nids are trying to destroy as many of our ships as possible, and adding more wood to the fire won't help us. When they're done with the Navy, there's going to be a full-scale assault against Minoris and Majoris. I can see what they're doing here – they're moving to crack us open.'

'What should we say to the Navy?' Lakon asked.

'Tell them I order them to pull back,' she said. 'Tell them their commander has exceeded his authority, and as of this moment the Imperium rescinds his commission. Tell them he is no longer their lord. Tell them to get back here and help us rescue something from this mess.' She paused, then added, 'The lives of every single man, woman and child in this system rests on this. It's not just Minoris now but the quarter of a trillion people on Majoris too.

'If we lose right here, right now, _everyone will die_.' She spat the words.

Another silent fireball blossomed on the screen.

'This is as bad as it can get, isn't it?' Kodos said.

He was about to be proved wrong.

Contrary to common perception, the Hive Mind was a finite entity.

In the minds of the Imperial warriors fighting it, it had taken on something of the quality of a demonic intelligence. A fiendish being of almost-supernatural power, unbounded by the normal rules of time and matter. An unknowable but malign intelligence that could strike where and whenever it wished. Truly alien. Truly terrifying. Utterly inhumane – and always hungry.

As was often the case, the Imperium was somewhat mistaken. It was right about the Hive Mind being alien, inhumane and hungry. However, the perception of infallibility was exaggerated.

It had to be acknowledged that the Hive Mind was capable. Millions of Tyranid brains, running in parallel and psychically-linked, gave it an enormous reservoir of cognitive ability. Its telepathic faculties were so vast that they actually overwhelmed the Warp, creating the Shadow. Its ability to spawn new servant-creatures could run at a remarkably high speed. Its biological inventiveness was enormous, and it was a master of mutation and DNA manipulation.

However, and this was a crucial point, it was still finite. It had limits. The limits might be wide, but they were there. And the Hive Mind was running close to those limits.

It was currently engaged in fighting not just in orbit near the planetary binary, but also elsewhere throughout the system. It was fighting skirmishes and engagements across a region of space nearly five light-hours across. That was a huge volume. In addition to that, it was co-ordinating the actions of millions of newly-spawned Tyranid organisms on Minoris itself, as it built its strength up again for a fresh assault on the embattled north. It was also constantly watching the neighbouring planet, in case something should change there. It kept sending out spore-pods toward Majoris, testing its defences. So far the missile-interceptors were holding up admirably, but the Hive Mind considered it to be only a matter of time before a pod found its way through. And then the ground assault could begin on the larger world.

But all this meant the Hive had, in the colloquial, a lot on its mind.

When people are distracted, when multiple events demand their attention, when their resources are spread thin, that is when mistakes happen. And in this respect, the Hive Mind was no different from any other intelligence. It was running millions of bug-slaves and thousands of ships. It was silently guiding vast drifts of bio-mines toward the approaching Imperial ships. It was probing the well-defended neighbour-world.

The Imperial forces had made many mistakes in the Riothrian System. It was past time for the Hive Mind to have its own little slip too. And when it did, it happened in spectacular style.

The Hive Mind was directing one of its bio-ships to engage an Imperial craft with plasma, in the hope of forcing the Imperial ship into a drifting cloud of bio-mines. However, it was so focused on this engagement that the locations of some of the mines were briefly neglected. The mines were small and had only the most rudimentary nervous systems – their telepathic signature was negligible. They were easy to overlook.

One of them collided with the bio-ship.

The explosion sent the bio-ship into a spin. Pain flaring through its nerves, the space-going creature desperately tried to right itself. Then the Imperial ship fired on it, briefly blinding it. Trying to regain control, the ship fired its engines.

And as it couldn't see, it didn't realise that it was pointed right at the Tyranid mothership.

The bio-ship regained its sight a few seconds later. But by then the enormously-powerful bio-plasma thrusters were already running at somewhere north of a fifteen-Terra-gravity acceleration. It didn't have time to stop itself before it slammed into the surface of the mothership.

The Imperial suspicions about the enormous potato-shaped alien craft were entirely correct, as it happened. It had indeed journeyed here from Andromeda. It had indeed spent an unbelievable length of time in the frozen night between the galaxies. As such, it carried an enormous volume of reaction mass, both as propellant and as food for the long, slow voyage. It still had more than half of its original mass, consumed during a vast feeding frenzy in another galaxy in the distant past.

And the out-of-control bio-ship collided with one of the mothership's thruster-sphincters. An instant after collision, the bio-ship exploded. Its explosion ripped the sphincter open. A plume of highly-reactive biomass sprayed out. That biomass encountered the plasma-shockwave from the bio-ship's accidental kamikaze run. And the plume was destabilised. It too exploded.

The explosion propagated back into the mothership itself. Billions of tons of volatile biomass were ignited. A huge, reddish orange fireball burped out from one side of the mothership. The fireball expanded in all directions, bringing with it a wash of kinetic energy.

The mothership was pushed to one side.

A lot of its propellant was gone. Its manoeuvring system was severely-damaged. And it was on a new orbit. A slightly different orbit. An orbit that portended no good for anyone, whether human or Tyranid.

Up ahead in the sky, bluish-white against the darkness, the crescent of Minoris gleamed with the hopeful glow of a life-bearing world. It was a hope that would very shortly be ended.

Lady Sharrow stared at the screen. 'Okay – what just happened?'

'Looks like the Emperor just answered our prayers,' Lakon said, sounding awed.

Everyone on the bridge was looking at the screen. Even the people busy with ship-related duties kept sneaking amazed glances. Alaster was staring too. What he was seeing was unbelievable.

'Was that the Navy?' Kodos asked.

On the screen, the purplish potato of the Tyranid vessel was wreathed with an expanding cloud of fire. A vast explosion had just erupted somewhere on the far side of it. They'd actually seen its wrinkled, leathery surface convulse! It was now backlit by a cooling and reddening spherical plume of destruction.

One of the sensor techs spoke up. 'No,' the voice said. 'That wasn't the Navy. Repeat, that wasn't the Navy. One of the Nid ships crashed.'

'Skak,' Lakon remarked. 'It must have hit something important.'

'Well,' Lady Sharrow said, sounding very surprised, 'maybe at last we have some good news. What's the rest of the Nid fleet doing?'

'We're getting mixed reports,' someone else put in, 'but they seem to be disorganised.'

Schematics blossomed on the screens. Alaster and the others watched the Nid fleet as it scattered backward and forward. The motion of the spacecraft was disoriented, almost random. It was as if they were all suddenly concussed, lurching drunkenly back and forth.

'The Hive Mind,' Lady Sharrow guessed. 'The Hive Mind's stunned! It's lost control!'

Kodos's helmet nodded in sudden understanding. 'It's been nutted!' he said. 'The explosion on the mothership – it's taken a knock to the head!' He sounded delighted.

Someone on the bridge started cheering. Suddenly everyone was joining in, a spontaneous eruption of emotion. Even Alaster felt swept along with it. He waved his chainsword above his head triumphantly. Now this was good news! Everyone was cheering and laughing and clapping each other on the back. Faces were wreathed in smiles and hands were shaking. Inside his helmet, he was beaming too. Finally – a concrete blow to the alien menace!

Then he noticed something that stopped him in his tracks.

The Tech-Priests had lowered their incense-censers. Instead of sonorously-swinging them, they had gathered around a console. They were conversing quickly in low voices. Alaster couldn't quite catch what they were saying. But something about it chilled him. He heard what sounded like a small gong. Puzzled, he looked around for it, but he couldn't quite see where the sound had come from. His eyes tracked back to the front of the bridge.

He looked up at the screen.

Something caught his eye. Was it just his mind playing tricks, or did the hive mothership appear to have moved, just a little? And was it just his mind acting up, or was the orientation different? Did it seem to be pointed a bit more toward them?

Yes, it did. The potato looked more circular than oval. He was staring _down_ it, not _across_ it, he realised. Suddenly, even as people carried on whooping and cheering around him, Alaster felt uneasy.

It spurred him into action. Space Marines didn't just stand there when questionable things happened. He lowered his chainsword and walked over to Lakon, Kodos and Lady Sharrow. Technically he shouldn't leave his station, but he had feeling it might be important.

Lady Sharrow noticed his approach first. Just for a second he caught her eyes as she glanced over the name engraved on his collar. She was very quick, he had to acknowledge.

'Brother Alaster,' she said. 'What is it?'

He pointed at the screen. 'My Lady – forgive me but I don't think this is good news.'

Kodos and Lakon had noticed his arrival. Lakon looked quizzical and Kodos sounded annoyed.

'What the skak is this, Karo?' the sergeant asked. 'Get back to your post!'

'Let him speak,' Lakon said. A look of faint concern had entered his eyes.

'The potato – the ship,' Alaster said. 'It's pointed toward us now. It wasn't before.'

Lady Sharrow frowned. Then she glanced at the screen, and an eyebrow rose. 'He's right,' she said. 'So it is.'

Kodos and Lakon looked too. Then, Kodos said, 'Has someone changed the magnification?'

Lakon shook his head. 'The screen's already on maximum, I believe.'

'What is it?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'Is it just me,' Lakon said, 'or does it look just a tiny bit bigger?'

'It does, doesn't it?' Kodos said, sounding sombre.

'I can't see it,' Lady Sharrow said.

'It looks bigger to me as well,' Alaster said. 'With respect my Lady, you don't have our enhanced eyes.'

'No,' she said, 'I suppose I don't. Three Space Marines versus a middle-aged woman's knackered eyeballs. I'll accept your opinion, then. But what does this mean?'

'It's pointed our way,' Kodos said, 'and it's looking bigger. Either the object itself has physically-expanded – which seems unlikely – or…' He trailed off.

'It's incoming,' Alaster said.

Lady Sharrow regarded them, a sober look in her eyes. 'Remind me,' she said slowly. 'I seem to recall being told that monster is fifty kilometres across?'

Lakon nodded. 'That's right.'

'And it appears to be headed our way,' she said. 'Toward us. And we're currently in low orbit around Minoris, aren't we?'

'That is correct,' Lakon agreed.

Lady Sharrow nodded, slowly. She looked toward the console with the Tech-Priests. 'Is it just me, or are they huddling and looking even more furtive than they usually do? No, it's not just me, is it?'

'They've worked it out too,' Lakon said.

'We need to talk to them,' Lady Sharrow said. Without another word she swept imperiously toward the Tech-Priests. The marines found themselves towed along in her wake.

By now the bridge crew were beginning to twig that something wasn't quite right. The euphoria was rapidly evaporating, and worried eyes were looking toward the procession as it moved toward the huddle of red-robed Tech-adepts.

The room fell silent as they approached.

Lady Sharrow stopped, a couple of feet from the console. She looked at the Tech-Priests. They looked back. She said nothing.

One of them stepped forward. 'Your Ladyship-'

'The Tyranid mothership,' she cut him off. 'It's moving this way, isn't it?'

The Tech-Priest's hood bobbed up and down. A green light glowed in the darkness inside it. A toneless and polite voice spoke. 'Yes, your Ladyship. We've just performed the Rite of Laser Dopplerimetry on it. The radial velocity is confirmed. The explosion has kicked it inwards.'

'Toward us,' Lady Sharrow said.

'Yes, Ladyship.'

'Show me,' she said.

The Tech-Priest reached out and touched a key on the console.

The left sidescreen flickered and changed. Now it too displayed the same schematic of the solar system – except there was an additional pink line, running from the original orbit of the mothership. It curved inward. Alaster followed the curve, with horrified realisation.

The line, gradually bending in the two suns' gravity well, twisted in toward the blue epicycle that marked the orbit of the planetary binary. Alaster followed it on, silently praying that it wouldn't do what he thought it would. But there was something inexorable about it. He was reminded of the curve of the dam, the one his squad and the Wolves had destroyed to foil the Nid advance. The dam had been curved too – it had had the same sense of geometric power, of enormous force pent up behind it. And when that concrete curve had given way, the consequences had been just as violent as this.

No. There was no hope, he saw. There was no chance of evasion. There was no chance of re-direction. There was no possibility of escape. The unthinking and uncaring laws of celestial mechanics had taken over. It was just like the eclipse they had witnessed on Majoris, the planets racing toward their preordained appointment. Just as the Space Marines had offered no quarter during their assault on deCopelberg, so too space itself showed no mercy. The cold gods of momentum and gravity demanded a blood sacrifice, and what they called for, they would receive.

That sacrifice was to be a planet called Riothria Minoris.

'It's going to strike the planet, isn't it?' Lady Sharrow said.

She was correct. The coloured lines intersected on the plot, a death sentence written in brightly-chromatic thread.

The Tech-Priest nodded. 'Yes, your Ladyship.'

'And what will the effect be?' she asked.

'In standard units, the object has a kinetic energy of around four times ten to the twenty-fifth power,' the Tech-Priest explained, 'or five percent the combined per-second output of the two suns-'

'In Gothic, please.'

'An ending,' the Tech-Priest said simply. 'It will be the end of Minoris. When the object strikes, it will melt the crust. The mantle plume will smash the continental plates. The input of heat will boil the oceans. And the shockwave will rip off the atmosphere.'

Someone on the bridge gasped.

'And the people on the surface?' Lady Sharrow asked. 'What about bunkers? Shelters? _Basements_?'

'They won't help,' the Tech-Priest said bluntly. 'This event is not survivable. Surface conditions will not approximate the range tolerable by human beings.' He paused. 'The planet will be unable to support any form of life for at least another ten million years. A new crust will need to solidify, and volcanic action will be needed to restore an atmosphere.'

For a moment, a long and chilling moment, there was silence on the bridge.

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'I take it there is no chance of diverting this meteor?'

The Tech-Priest shook his head. 'Not on such a short timescale, no. The object is too big, too heavy and too fast.'

Lady Sharrow reached into her robe and produced the bottle. She glugged down another long draught. She gave no sign of caring who saw her do it. She then lowered the bottle. She wiped her mouth with her free hand. 'Well,' she said, 'I suppose I can hardly complain, given that I ordered an Exterminatus. But there is one more question I must ask.' A gallows smile crossed her face. 'Call this the billion-crown question, if you will.' There was a desperate intensity in her eyes. And, to Alaster's shock, he saw some sweat beaded on her brow. She was tense! 'How much time do we have?'

The Tech-priest said, calmly and impassively, 'Thirty hours. Thirty hours and thirty-five minutes, with an error region of plus or minus two point nine minutes.'

The bottle fell from Lady Sharrow's hands. It crashed to the floor. It clanked on impact, rattling as it fell to its side. A plume of alcoholic-smelling liquid sprayed out from the miniature impact.

He empty hand spasmed and shook. She didn't appear to have noticed.

'_Thirty hours_?' she screeched. 'Thirty hours? What in the name of the Emperor are we to do in _thirty hours_?'

'There are more than a quarter of a billion people left on that planet,' Lakon said, staring flatly at the Tech-Priest.

The adept raised his hands defensively. One of them was entirely mechanical. 'For what little it is worth, we extend our condolences,' he said. 'And we have faith that the Omnissiah will accept their wisdom when they pass over.'

'Is there no hope?' Kodos growled. 'Can we do nothing?'

The Tech-Priest pointed at the screen. 'We are sorry. But the computations are rigorous. We have accounted for all the sources of error. We have factored in all the parameters.' He gestured to the console. On the side of it Alaster noted a line of three votive candles, in white, black and red. At the end was a small gong, upright in a wooden frame – so that was where the sound had come from! 'And we have performed the Rite of Calculus. We lit the candles of Understanding, Enlightenment and Analytical Mechanics. We rang the Gong of Gnosis, to invoke the spirits that conserve momentum, energy and charge. We have left nothing to chance. All the sacred rituals have been performed, in the manner handed down to us from the Ancients.

'There can be no mistake. In Thirty hours, or thereabouts, Minoris and all who remain upon her will die.'


	49. Chapter 49 Crumbling Resolve

Lady Sharrow had set up a temporary office on board a Navy ship, up in parking orbit over Minoris. This ship was a converted freighter. It was only lightly armed, and it couldn't land. It was reliant on shuttles to ferry people back forth. And they were being ferried in great number. Every available ship was being put to use for evacuation. Lady Sharrow had said she wouldn't return to the planet's surface. She had announced that she wouldn't block a seat on the way out for someone else. Alaster also wondered if perhaps she didn't want to be on the planet's surface, given what was happening down there.

Since she was here, the Space Marines had felt it prudent to set up a command post aboard this ship too. Since the strike cruisers were now assigned to the cordon around Majoris, it was probably a wise choice.

'Right – who next?' Lady Sharrow said.

There was a scrum as people pushed and shoved to come forward.

The office was a seen of crowding and barely-controlled chaos. The Inquisitor was sat behind a wide desk at the back of the room. It was a small space, and certainly too small for all the people who kept bustling in and out. There was no carpet, just dull metal decking. Fat ducts snaked overhead. The space was lit by an actinic striplight running through the middle of the dull grey ceiling, and also by an incongruous baroque lamp sat on the Inquisitor's desk. Where she'd produced that from Alaster had no idea. The sculpted, gilded stand and the green shade were completely incongruous to the Spartan efficiency of the room. The desk itself was a dull plastic grey. The lamp spilled a pool of clear white light across the piled-up mound of documents on the desk.

Elbows were jabbing, voices were shouting and hands were waving. 'Me!' one person said. 'No, me!' someone else yelled. Someone else demanded that the plebeians get out of their way, insisting that their noble birth meant they should take priority. They were abruptly cut off by an elbow to the stomach. Another person shoved in front, only to be grabbed and dragged back into the pocket throng.

The sound was deafening. Over the shoulders of the struggling plaintiffs, Alaster looked at Lady Sharrow. She seemed tired and exasperated. The room was packed to capacity.

Part of the crowding came from the presence of five Space Marines in the. There were four on guard in the room – Alaster and Nasty, who were stood in opposite corners in front of the Inquisitor's desk, and Fegust and Sandrer on the opposite side of the room behind her desk. Kodos was stood guard in the door, keeping an eye on the people coming in and out. Under normal circumstances an Navy ship should have been one of the most secure places imaginable, but not now.

Behind Kodos's bulk Alaster caught a glimpse of the corridor. It was heaving with dishevelled people. It made the cabin look almost empty. People were being bussed up from the planet as fast as possible – or at least, they had been until the situation down there had apparently collapsed. The late rush of people was flooding through every ship. The chatter from the corridor was loud – people talking, feet scraping on the floor, arms waving in complaint and raised voices snapping at each other. There was a stink of sweat, unwashed clothes and fear. A horde of angry and upset people had a distinctive scent.

It was unpleasant and threatening. Alaster found that his hand kept tightening on the grip of his pistol.

As the crowd bickered, Lady Sharrow reached down, behind the desk. Over the noise, Alaster just made out the scrape of a drawer being opened. From it she drew a flat-bottomed ship's decanter. It was cut with elaborate decorative patterns. They gleamed in the light. Inside, a transparent liquid sloshed as she lifted the decanter.

There was a wine glass on her desk, a matching piece of crystal with elaborate decoration and a long, fluted stem. It was sat beneath the desk lamp. Little rainbows of refracted lamplight glinted on the desktop around its base.

With a quiet squeak, she pulled the stopper from the decanter. There was a tinkle as she poured herself a drink. An alcoholic scent wafted past the crowd.

Lady Sharrow picked up the glass. People pushed, shoved and shouted. She ignored them all. She regarded the glass, then shrugged. Alaster watched in disturbed fascination as she then downed the entire contents. It was a disgusting spectacle. It was not the first that he had seen her drink today.

She put the glass down. Then she raised the decanter and refilled it. 'I'm going to need a drink by the end of today,' she observed. 'Right, who wants to waste my time next?' She put the decanter down to one side, on top of some papers. A few droplets slid down from the neck. They spread in little darkening stains on the papers underneath. Lady Sharrow didn't appear to even notice them.

A man in fine, gold-chased robes pushed his way forward. It was the man who had shouted about noble birth, Alaster realised. He had a haughty expression and he looked vaguely familiar. He was at most in his mid-twenties. A noble of some description. Alaster wondered why he looked familiar.

The young man regarded the room with refined contempt. 'I am Prince Harrel of House Sarrack,' he announced with lofty disdain. 'Second son of His Lordship the Governor.'

Oh. House Sarrack. The Governor's son, Alaster realised. Or one of them, anyway. He wondered who Sarrack's wife was – and he realised he felt sorry for the poor woman. Whatever had she done to deserve a fool of a husband like that?

Lady Sharrow glared at the newcomer. 'What, exactly, do you want? And how did you even get on this ship?'

'Uh, a private shuttle, ma'am,' one of the crew said. 'They said they had messages for your Ladsyhip, and they had government-level codes. And they said they had to speak to you.'

Lady Sharrow nodded, sighing. 'So of course you let them through, I suppose.' She fixed Sarrack the younger with a glare. 'All right, since you've got this far, here's your chance to hang yourself. Say your piece, then get outt.'

'I am here,' the younger Sarrack said, ignoring the crewman, 'to demand security.'

Lady Sharrow looked perplexed. 'Whatever for?'

'For my family's noble claim to Minoris,' he replied.

Lady Sharrow looked baffled. 'No-one's taking the title deeds off you, if that's what you mean. I can't promise that it'll be any use to you, but-'

'But my family's rights and privileges have been ridden roughshod over!' the young man shouted. Under his helmet, Alaster lifted an eyebrow. The idiot dared to interrupt an Inquisitor? What a fool. 'I demand that this undignified treatment end! We expect the privilege which we are entitled!'

The room became quiet. Lady Sharrow's eyebrows were twitching, Alaster noticed. She opened her mouth.

There was a motion near the door. Kodos pushed his way forward. 'Let me deal with this,' he told her. He turned to the young man and produced his plasma pistol. The man opened his mouth, only for Kodos to shove the pistol right in his face. The glow of the vents played over his face with an unsteady, flickering blue light. 'This is a plasma pistol,' Kodos told him, sounding casual, towering over the hapless noble. His voice was casual but his face was belligerent. 'And in case you hadn't noticed, it's plugging your big mouth. I get the impression you're just here to waste our time. Well, for the record, your esteemed family are partly responsible for this skak-up. If you'd spent your taxes better – better roads, better guns, more troops – maybe Minoris would've put up more of a fight. And maybe we wouldn't have got into this desperate mess. Maybe we'd have been ready for the Nid ship when it arrived.

'But you didn't. You squandered the money. You wasted it all on pretty jewels and luxury foods while your people went hungry. You danced the night away in glittering balls, while potholes ate the roads outside your palace. You enjoyed chandeliers and bright lights, while your capital city was on rolling black-outs.

'Now, I'm a Space Marine. In case you didn't understand, that means it'd be easier for me to kill you right now. I think you and your family are despicable wastes of meat. And I'm not sure how you think you have a right to even breathe the same air as us here on this ship – let alone waste our time with your self-indulgent skak!

'Now get out of here. Or I'm sure my squad here would like some target practise!'

There was a stain spreading across Sarrack-the-younger's breeches. A sharp, acid scent drifted through the air. His eyes were wide, terrified circles. He'd wet himself, Alaster realised.

No sooner had Kodos's rant ended then the young man bolted the room.

Lady Sharrow watched him go. Another full glass had appeared in her hand. She looked puzzled. 'I wonder what all that was about?' she mused. 'He wasn't trying to secure passage, he was wittering about land rights. Doesn't quite make sense.' She shrugged, then downed the glass. 'Right, who next?' The glass clinked as she dumped it back onto the desktop.

A familiar figure walked in. It was the businessman, Galbalen. He looked as manicured and self-confident as ever.

Lady Sharrow actually looked surprised. 'Mr Galbalen,' she said. 'What in the Imperium brings you here?'

'Your Ladyship.' He oozed charm. Alaster found himself reminded of a relic-seller who had used to hang about outside his family's church in Colvin. The man had made his trade peddling faked relics to the more gullible members of the town's various congregations. He'd had the same sort of self-confident smirk.

It wasn't a welcome memory.

'Your Ladyship,' Mr Galbalen said, 'I'm here-'

'You came on the same ship that Sarrack did, didn't you?' she said suddenly, cutting him off.

Mr Galbalen just nodded.

Lady Sharrow looked at one of the Navy people. 'Take a memo, please,' she said. 'From now on, check with my staff first before allowing people to board on the pretence of "bringing me messages".' The Naval crewman nodded, hurriedly jotting something down on a slate.

Dismissing him from her mind, Lady Sharrow looked back at Mr Galbalen. 'Give me one reason why I should put up with your time-wasting.'

'I'm here on business critical for the sector's future,' Mr Galbalen said smoothly.

'And that would be?'

'I represent a consortium of financiers,' he said. 'We're a newly-founded venture, yes, but we have a strategic plan to exploit the industrially-vital resources that will soon be uncovered on Minoris. We believe these will be-'

Yet another full glass had appeared in Lady Sharrow's hand. She stared at its contents, then at him. 'Is this stronger than I thought,' she asked the air, 'or is he talking complete rubbish? Mr Galbalen, unless you've forgotten, I had your wife abducted and jailed just to shut you up. So why are you here now?'

Galbalen looked irritated, but waved a hand as if dismissing the past. 'Yes, but that was then. I'm sure you agree that we must look to the future.'

'What future? There's an out-of-control giant meteor about to pulverise your homeworld.'

'Yes, yes, yes. But that's not the issue. The issue is mineral rights. When the crust is cracked open, it was expose all the rare heavy ores in the mantle. The mining futures alone will be worth billions!'

Lady Sharrow stared. 'So,' she said, 'that's what young Sarrack's visit was about, I suppose. You and financier friends – you're trying to do a hostile takeover on the planet, aren't you? You're trying to buy it out from underneath House Sarrack's feet. That's why you were on the ship with what's-his-name.'

'We made the House an offer,' Galbalen said, 'but they lack vision. In return for them signing over the fief, we'd have given them ten billion in cash up front, plus a full point five percent stake in the venture. But he said no. Which is crazy. We made a very generous, given the circumstances.'

'Oh really?' There was a dangerous glint in the Inquisitor's eyes. Apparently Galbalen didn't notice it.

'House Sarrack,' he said, 'owe the Administratum seven hundred and forty-five billion Crowns. Subject to a lending agreement, we'll gauarantee those debts. If we can negotiate a suitable interest rate with the Administratum, we believe we can pay them down within a decade. The heavy elements! Your Ladyship, this is the industrial opportunity of the century! Now if we could gain your support, this great endeavour could move forward. And I assure you, we are businessmen. We appreciate the need for adequate remuneration. Put simply, we know your time is important. This can be worth your while. I'm authorised to offer you a stake of up to five percent of the gross-'

There was a scrape from the chair. Lady Sharrow stood up. She looked furious. Kodos stepped forward.

'No, Brother-Sergeant!' she barked. 'Stand down!'

Her voice brooked no dissent. It didn't allow for the possibility of disobedience – not even as a theoretical idea. Instinctively, Alaster snapped to attention.

Kodos stepped back, looking perturbed.

Lady Sharrow glared at Galbalen. 'Mr Galbalen,' she said, 'I'm appalled by this. You have the temerity to interrupt a strategic meeting, and in such a brazen manner! For nothing other than private gain! And you then compound it by _offering me a bribe_!' For a moment it looked like rage would win on her face. She visibly struggled for control. When she spoke again her voice was flat and angry, controlled but only barely. 'Mr Galbalen, I am appalled by this hubristic impiety. The planet hasn't even burned yet, and already you and your compatriots are dividing up the spoils! More than a quarter of a billion people will die in less than a day's time, and all you can worry about is carpet-bagging mineral rights!

'For the record, Mr Galbalen, your offer is refused. And I am declaring your clique's actions impious.' She snapped her fingers. An aide scurried forward. 'Find out who his backers are,' she said, 'and have all their assets confiscated! Oh, and have this one taken to the brig. I'll deal with him later, when we have time for such things.'

She stared flatly at Galbalen. 'For the record, Mr Galbalen, you can't outbid the Inquisition. And you shouldn't try. I agree that something will have to be done – eventually! – about mineral exploration. But it will not be you or your special friends who will be involved! Now get him out of my sight!'

Two Naval crewmen grabbed hold of the outraged Galbalen and dragged him from the room.

'I need another one,' Lady Sharrow growled, pouring out yet another glass. She sat down. The chair creaked under her. The level of the fluid in the decanter had fallen a lot, Alaster noted. She glugged the latest glass back. 'The planet hasn't even burnt yet – and already the vultures are circling!'

Alaster saw that her hand was shaking. She had an angry tick above one eye. Overhead, the ventilation fans whirred quietly. Alaster took a deep breath. The air smelt of sweat, outrage and cheap alcohol.

An aide stepped forward. 'Uh, ma'am, someone else to see you-'

'Who?' she demanded. 'More time-wasters?'

'They're, uh, they're marines, your Ladyship,' the aide stammered.

He didn't get any further. There was a commotion outside the door. Then it was briefly blocked. A Space Marine shoved his way in. For a moment Alaster was confused as his eyes took in dirty silvery armour and a red kneepad. He'd been expecting blue-black, of course. Then he realised this warrior belonged to one of the other Chapters deployed to Riothria.

The marine walked into the middle of the room. Then he stopped, not a step further forward or a step back. He spoke. He was as abrupt as his arrival. 'We have come straight from the planet, your Ladyship,' his helmet announced. 'The strategic situation is deteriorating. Four of the ports have been stormed by mobs. We have still hold Albatross, but the situation there too is unfavourable.'

Lady Sharrow blinked, clearly surprised by the marine's bluntness. It took her a visible few moments to shift gears mentally.

'So we've lost control?' Lady Sharrow said after the pause.

Since when, Alaster wondered, had Lady Sharrow been slow on the uptake? His eyes drifted by themselves toward the fast-emptying decanter.

'Yes,' the Space Marine agreed. He was one of the Doom Eagles, Alaster belatedly realised. It appeared he'd also seen action not long ago. The marine's silver armour was dirty, scratched and dented in several places. He'd been changing the magazine on his bolter as he had walked in.

'And we're in danger of losing Albatross too? Is that what you're telling me?'

'Yes, my Lady,' the warrior's helmet announced. Alaster noted that the other marine was showing no hint of any kind of emotional reaction. He was describing the bad news much as if he were also reporting the weather.

'This is bad,' Lady Sharrow said. Several heads in the crowded room nodded in agreement.

'Yes, my Lady,' the Doom Eagle – who hadn't even given his name – said. Again he sounded unmoved. He lifted up his bolter, checking it over. Several aides had to duck out of the way. The marine didn't even look at them. If he had clubbed one of them on the head, Alaster wondered if he'd care. Would he even notice?

'So just what is going on down in Albatross?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'The city is orderless,' the Eagle said. The overhead light gleamed on his dirtied shoulderpads. The desk lamp caught the eagle on his bolter with a gilded flash. 'Civil authority has collapsed. The news has leaked out. Mobs are descending on the spaceport.' Done with changing the magazine, he lowered his bolter into an alert grip. It was held in both hands, muzzle angled downwards and to the side, where it could quickly be brought up to shoot. Alaster watched this with professional respect.

'The security forces?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'The local police have joined with the rioters. Most of the PDF forces are mutinying. There's been a rebellion in the capital. Rioters stormed the Palace. There's someone on the public nets, calling himself the new Governor. He doesn't seem to have any control either, just a louder voice. And it's much the same everywhere else. The entire northern continent has descended into anarchy.'

'What about our forces?' she asked.

'We're evacuating the remaining Guard forces through the port,' the marine replied. 'We're holding it with marines, for now. But the crowds keep growing. And there's Tyranid movement, as well. It's not clear if its planned or just a random movement, but there are bug swarms moving north.'

'So Minoris is already burning,' Lady Sharrow said.

The Doom Eagle nodded. 'Yes, my Lady.' He could have been discussing the day's weather.

'This,' Lady Sharrow said, 'is an absolute fiasco.'

With an additional Marine in it, the room felt even smaller.

Lady Sharrow reached out and picked up the stopper for the decanter. She turned it over in her hands, watching it with a distracted expression. 'It seems I was wrong,' she mused. 'The vultures haven't got here first. The planet's already on fire!' Refracted light gleamed inside the glass stopper.

The crowd were watching Lady Sharrow as intently as she was watching it.

Alaster glanced over at Nasty. From the tense way he was stood, Alaster could see that Nasty was feeling the over-crowding too. Being crowded was not a welcome experience for a Space Marine. An attack could come from any side. Alaster was stood with his back to the wall. He kept hearing the vents on his backpack scrape against the metal.

At least from here he could see every angle.

There was a metallic clink from the desk. The stopper was lying on the surface again. She'd put it down. Lady Sharrow was leafing through the heap of papers on her desk. There were bags under her eyes. Some stray hairs hung out from her head. It was striking – her hair was normally icily-perfect. She and everyone else in the room had been conscious since the debacle with the fleet. It was already four hours beyond the human crew's normal shift pattern. The strain was showing, and it could likely only get worse.

'Okay,' Lady Sharrow said, 'you!' She pointed at one of the aides. He'd arrived just a few minutes before the Doom Eagle. He was wearing a naval uniform, Alaster noticed. A sheen of sweat gleamed along his head. The attention of an Inquisitor was clearly not something he wanted.

He twitched, visibly terrified.

'What's the status of the fleet?' she said. 'I've got contradictory reports here. This one-' she waved one piece of paper '-says one thing, and this one-' she waved another '-says something else. I don't understand why you navy types can't get it together. What about this idea?' She waved another piece of paper. 'This blow-the-thing up plan? What about that? I haven't heard any news in nearly an hour.'

The man swallowed. 'Uh, Operation Potato-Peeler, ma'am?'

Nasty and Alaster exchanged gazes. Potato-Peeler, indeed? Either someone at the Navy was going down the black humour route, or maybe they'd just run out of ideas.

'Yes,' Lady Sharrow sighed. She dumped the piece of paper. It drifted to the floor. Another aide dived down to pick it up. Lady Sharrow ignored him. She grabbed the handle of a drawer on her desk and jerked it open. The sliders squeaked loudly. Several people winced at the noise. She riffled around inside. There was a clank and a slosh. Nodding with satisfaction, she produced a bottle and a glass. She dumped them onto the desk. She unscrewed the top. 'Yes, Operation Potato Peeler.' A fresh, stronger scent of alcohol wafted through the room. There was a splashing as she poured yet more clear liquid into the glass.

Alaster noted that her hand was trembling again. And was it just his imagination, or had the tremor got worse?

'Yes,' she said again. 'Operation Potato Peeler. The unlikely and ludicrous scheme to blow this thing up. Has anything happened about that?'

The sploshing finished. She raised the glass and gulped some down. It was big glass. The liquid inside it glinted in the light.

'Uh,' the aide stammered., 'there, uh, there is, uh, a problem.'

Lady Sharrow sighed. 'Funny that. I'd never have guessed that we happen to have a problem. I mean, who could ever have imagined? That anything could be other than rosily perfect?' Her sarcasm had a bitter, cynical edge. 'So what is this problem?'

'We've, uh, we've lost all our big ships. They, uh, they were all in the attack earlier.'

Lady Sharrow became still. Every movement ceased, except the twitch above her eye. The glass was held in mid-air, halfway between her mouth and the desk. It trembled, just slightly. Then, after a tense pause, she lowered it to the desk. It settled down with a slight clink.

The aides in the room breathed again. The Doom Eagle was stood still as a statue. He didn't appear fussed one way or the other by her display of tension.

'I see,' she said, finally. 'So this wonderful scheme involving multiple nova cannon shots isn't going to go anywhere … because we don't have any cannon left?'

The naval aide nodded. 'Uh, yes, ma'am.'

She took a deep breath. 'Well,' she said, 'I suppose that nothing else can be done about that, then. In terms of ships, just what exactly do we have left?'

'Uh, really, just the little ones, ma'am.'

'The little ones.' She nodded. 'I should have guessed, shouldn't I? So basically we have a fleet of shuttles and yachts, effectively?'

'Uh, and,uh the Astartes ships, ma'am-' the aide stammered. 'If we could-'

'NO!' She leapt to her feet. The chair was knocked back, screeching loudly. It toppled over behind the desk, falling down with a wooden thump. 'You may not redeploy them! The Astartes cruisers are basically all the fleet we have left! The cordon between Majoris and the Nids MUST be maintained! This is NOT OPTIONAL!'

She was shouting now.

The tick at her head was more of a throb.

She took a deeper breath, visibly steadying herself. 'If the Nids land so much as one spore – one spore! – on the sister planet, then all this has been for nothing. The cordon is not a luxury. It is not up for debate. And since the Navy's little mutiny the other day has cost us our most important vessels, I don't think the Navy has any grounds on which to argue! Unless you're forgetting, ladies and gentlemen, the enemy are doing all they can to get through to the neighbouring planet!'

She grabbed a sheaf of papers from the desk. Anger writ large on her face, she threw them to the floor. 'Damn it, all of you, can't any of you see how serious this is? We are facing defeat here – DEFEAT! This situation just carries on getting worse and worse. People won't do what they're told. They keep insisting on substituting their own judgement for approved plans. I find myself surrounded and stymied by idiots at every turn! Incompetence rots the very decking we stand on! Fools, boodlers, liers and crooks seem to infest every square inch of this system! If this is what the Imperium has decayed to, then we can hope for nothing! And-'

She stopped, looking confused.

'And-' she said again. She looked down and clutched at her chest. Her mouth opened. She seemed to struggle for air. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale – almost bloodless.

With a sick feeling in his gut, Alaster realised she looked ill.

He felt as if he were stood on the edge of a vast precipice. He felt as if they all were. He felt as if the wind was at their backs, pushing them forward. Pushing them toward the drop.

'Aaah,' Lady Sharrow said. Her eyes lost their focus. The tension vanished from her frame. Her face relaxed into blankness.

She toppled forwards.

The room exploded. As people panicked and started yelling and shouting and crying, Kodos dived forward. He caught the unconscious Inquisitor before she could hit the floor. She flopped bonelessly over his arm.

Kodos lowered her to the ground, gently.

'Someone get a skakking medic!' he shouted. When no-one appeared to act, Kodos grabbed his helmet from his belt and muttered something into the microphone.

Alaster had moved without even thinking. So had the other marines. The Raven bodyguard formed up around the desk, pushing the mass of people back. 'Okay,' Kodos said, 'I've called for medical help. Let's get these people out of here. She needs some air!'

The marines herded the confused throng from the room. The so-far nameless Doom Eagle helped them without comment. A few moments later, the room felt much bigger and much quieter. The door slammed shut on the mass.

Kodos had propped Lady Sharrow's head up on a cushion from the chair.

'She's breathing,' he said, 'but her pulse doesn't feel good.' He had his hand wrapped around her wrist, Alaster noticed. 'Thready and weak,' Kodos added.

'Skak,' Nasty said. 'Did she just conk out?'

'Shepherd!' Kodos growled. 'Take a hint and skakking shut up, unless you happen to be a competent medical authority?'

'No Sergeant,' Nasty said, sounding abashed.

'Then skakking well be quiet!'

Kodos looked stressed, Alaster thought. He really did. This was not a welcome development.

A few tense minutes past. Then the door was opened. It stayed open to admit Lakon and Apothecary Ryantum. Kodos glared at the rest of the room's occupants. 'Okay you lot,' he said, 'get out! I want the corridor cordoned off. Let's not have any nosey types sticking their skakking beaks in!'

They got.

Moments later, the room felt much more peaceful. The noise from the corridor had abated. It was replaced only by muffled echoes and the quiet rumble of the fans above. The door was shut. Kodos and Lakon stood to one side while the apothecary ran some instruments over the prone form of the Inquisitor. With so many fewer people in the room, the temperature had fallen and the clammy sense had vanished from the air.

'When was the last time she ate?' Ryantum asked. The lights caught the apothecary's insignia on his shoulder pad.

Lakon and Kodos looked at each other. Kodos shrugged. 'I can't recall,' Kodos said, 'when I last saw her eat.'

'I've seen her snack a couple of times,' Lakon said, 'but not much more than that in the last few days.'

Ryantum looked at the desk. He noted the glass and the decanter. 'Has she been drinking a lot recently?'

'Yes,' Lakon said. 'Is that a factor?'

'I take it she hasn't been sleeping either,' Ryantum observed. 'I suppose that her ladyship has been trying to use the alcohol to balance the stress of her position?'

'And it hasn't worked?' Lakon asked.

Ryantum nodded. 'Indeed. I believe she is suffering from nervous exhaustion, compounded by inadequate nutrition and excessive consumption of alcohol, as well as lack of sleep. If I'd known sooner, there would have been more I could do.'

'What about drugs?' Lakon asked.

'In her weakened condition? A bad idea. Her body is a mess. Drugging it will only make it worse right now. I suspect also dehydration may be playing a large role. If all she's drinking has been this…' Ryantum leanded over and picked up the decanter. He considered it before putting it back down again. 'She will need intervention to rehydrate. Possibly also to detoxify her blood. Additional physical stress is not a possibility at this stage.'

'So,' Lakon said, 'we have no choice but to commit the Inquisitor to bed.'

'Yes,' Ryantum said bluntly.

'Brilliant,' Lakon said. 'The chain of command just lost its key link. She's about the only thing that's been holding this mess together.'

'What do we tell them?' Kodos asked, jerking a thumb at the door.

Lakon considered it. 'We can't have it get out that the Inquisitor's keeled over,' he mused. 'That won't do morale any favours. And if people think no-one's in charge, things will just fall apart. And we don't need that. Not now.'

'There were witnesses,' Kodos said. 'They saw her go down. We can't pretend nothing's happening.'

'Wait … I've got an idea. We'll tell them it was an assassination attempt -someone poisoned her. We'll say we're looking for the culprit. And that she's recovering in hospital. That way, people will be too scared to put a foot out of line. You don't want to stick your head up when someone's tried to take out an Inquisitor!'

Kodos nodded. 'When someone's tried and failed, as well. I see. And we can justify surrounding her with marines – we can trust out brothers to keep their mouths shut, but I don't know about the Navy.'

'We need to get her onto one of our cruisers,' Lakon said. 'As soon as we can, that is. In the meantime we'll have to manage things here.'

'With your permission, Brother-Captain,' Ryantum said, 'I'll call for a stretcher. We need to get her to the infirmary as soon as possible.'

Lakon nodded. 'Okay, do that. And that lot outside can accompany it down.'

'Not ideal,' Kodos observed, 'but I guess that's the best we can do for now. But what about the news from the planet?'

Lakon's face was grim. 'We can't lose Albatross,' he said. 'We've still got some forces down there. We need to keep the port open so they can get out. But I guess we can only count on our own forces now. What's the status of your squad, Brother-Sergeant?'

'Patreus isn't going anywhere any time soon,' Kodos said bluntly. 'Karo can at least walk now. Nasty's okay, he's only got skakking bone inside that skull of his. Nothing to damage. The rest of them are fine.'

Lakon nodded. 'Okay. I've got a defensive plan in mind, but the heavy weapons teams are going to need covering. Do you think your squad can do that sort of thing? Realistically they won't need to do much – just stay in place and deal with anyone who tries to get to the Devastators.'

'And Magos Kelso's orders? She wants Karo off his feet.'

'Countermanded,' Lakon said bluntly. 'If they can walk, they can fight.'

Kodos looked around the room. 'Okay. Your call, my Lord.' The fans hummed behind the grills overhead.

'It's not like we have much choice,' Lakon said.


	50. Chapter 50 Fear, Night, Fire

A Thunderhawk was flying through a leaden sky, carrying a cargo of Space Marines.

'Look at all the smoke!' Nasty said.

The wind swirled in through the open hatch. The metal ramp hung out into the air. Albatross was laid out below them. Alaster was gripping a wall-hoop in his free hand, swaying in the wind. He was stood a little way back from the hatch. He could feel the rough metal of the hoop under his hand. His fingers were wrapped tightly around it. The hoop creaked on its mount. A gust of chilly air swirled into the forward compartment. With it came the rumble of the engines. The Thunderhawk was hovering a couple of thousand feet above the city.

Down below, black plumes of smoke were rising throughout the conurbation. Here and there, Alaster could see dancing specks of orange – flames, burning amongst the grey buildings. There were surges of movement amongst the streets. Mobs, looting, rioting and running amok. The city had fallen into disarray.

'The news spreads,' Alaster said. He tried not to lean on his ankle. Magos Kelso wasn't happy about this. She didn't think he was ready for deployment. She had actually protested Lakon's orders to his face. He hadn't seemed to care. The deflection of the mothership had changed everything. The Chapter needed all its warriors and they had too many Space Marines in the infirmary as it was. Alaster could at least walk, so the theory was that he could also play a role in this operation. He would be on his jump pack most of the time. He wouldn't be putting much weight on the ankle. Alaster supposed that it would be okay.

For his part, in a way Alaster was glad to be going back to the fight. The last few days he had felt like a spare part, useless and unneeded. And he'd watched the disaster unfold in front of him. There'd been nothing he could do, no way to fight the impending cataclysm. Helplessness didn't come easy to Space Marines, and Alaster was no exception.

The time for the recollections came to an abrupt holt.

Behind them, Kodos banged his chainsword against the hull. It clanged against the metal. Alaster felt the vibration through his boots, on top of the mighty rumble of the engines. 'All right marines, listen up!' the sergeant barked. 'This isn't going to be pleasant. This is probably going to be messy. But what we're doing today is critical. The port has to be secured, so we can get people out. The ships are going to keep running until the last possible second. We're not going to get everyone out – no-one imagines that – but the longer we can keep the port open, the more people get to live. That's what it's about today. Saving the innocent.

'But you can see the state the city's in. It's like this everywhere on the planet. Order has collapsed. But once order goes, there's nothing but chaos.'

Alaster twitched as he heard that word. He wondered if Kodos had used it deliberately?

'I don't condemn the people down there,' Kodos said, 'for what they're doing. They're frightened, they're hopeless and they have no control. They're doing what frightened people do. They're lashing out.

'But if the rioters overrun the spaceport, we can't use it. And with the port's facilities lost, that's even fewer people who can get out of here alive. That's what we're here to do – help others survive. We're Space Marines. That's what we do. Brothers, none of us will enjoy what lies ahead today. But we must do our duty. We must not flinch and we must not fail. Too much rests on this. And remember. I said that today is about saving the innocent. We are the Astartes – we stand for the Emperor's Will. Those who stand against us – well, they're not innocent anymore.' He paused, then added, 'In a few minutes we will deploy. In the meantime, I suggest you pray for the souls of those we will kill today. That is all. Bring the storm, brothers.'

Kodos made his way forward. Nasty and Alaster were at the front of the compartment. Alaster half-looked around, expecting to hear Patreus muttering prayers quietly.

Except that he didn't. Patreus wasn't with them. Their brother was still unconscious aboard the _Wrath_. It felt weird not having their brother with them. Alaster realised they badly needed Patreus's steady faith right now, if only to bolster their own.

Kodos stood between them. 'Karo, Shepherd,' he said, turning his helmeted head side to side. 'There's only two of you today. So I'm putting you with Sergeant Solyn and his Devastators. Your job is to play bodyguard. If anyone gets through the perimeter, you're to deal with them. I don't want the Devastators getting distracted. Do you understand me?'

Alaster nodded. 'Yes, Sergeant.'

Kodos nodded. 'Okay. I need the two of you in place to plant this.' Kodos reached down to his belt. A device was hung there. It was a metal tube with a line of LEDs up its side. It had a folded, tripedal stand. It stood about thirty centimetres high. It was a silvery-grey, marked with a fat wax seal of purity. The seal declared that it was sanctioned by the Adeptus Mechanicus, and would work provided the proper rituals were undertaken. The flat end of the cylinder bore a round, red button in a recessed metal frame. It was marked with the rune that Alaster understood to mean OFF/ON.

Kodos held the device out to Alaster.

Alaster slid his chainsword into its belt loop, then took the device. It was solid underneath his fingers. 'What is it?' he asked.

'Portable teleport homer,' Kodos replied. 'You put this down and set it out, then the Devastators teleport in. There's a flat-roofed building at the south-west corner of the spaceport. I'll mark it on your displays. That's where I want you to set up.'

Alaster glanced toward the edge of the city. A glowing blue dot appeared on his display.

He nodded. 'Yes Sergeant.'

'Okay.' Kodos's blue-black helmet nodded. Reflections gleamed on his red eyelenses. 'Now get ready to jump. And don't forget the Rite of the Button. It's pretty hard to get wrong – just push the big red button on the end. Oh, and Karo?'

'Yes, Sergeant?'

'Try not to damage that leg again, if you can.' Did that almost sound like concern? From _Kodos_? Underneath his helmet, Alaster blinked. He twitched as well. The sergeant didn't notice – he'd turned and was walking back, deeper into the compartment.

Moments later, they were given the all-clear to jump.

Alaster ran up the ramp, boots clanging on the metal. Cold wind swirled around him. Then he sprang, with only a small twinge from his ankle. He was in the air. The city was spread out below him. Streets, buildings and parks – he could see them all.

He and Nasty fell out of the Thunderhawk's turbulence region before firing their jump packs. Alaster's fall was arrested with the familiar jerk of the harness. It was wonderful not to have any weight on his ankle – there was no pain at all!

The two Storm Ravens flew over the doomed city.

It took them a few minutes to reach the spaceport. Alaster watched the landscape below as they moved, clutching the homer to his chest. The impression of chaos proved apt. Now that they were lower, he could see the surging mobs, crowds of frightened and angry people smashing everything that they could find. Many streets were filled with them. Other streets had already been ransacked. These lay empty, silent and deserted. Abandoned debris was strewn over the roads and here and there, the sunlight glinted off of broken glass. Many of these streets played host to plumes of thick, black smoke. Alaster and Nasty were careful to navigate around those.

They passed over a church. It was set in the middle of some open space, whether a paved square or grass Alaster wasn't sure. It was filled with people. There were thousands of them, packed in around the church. The spire towered over the sea of people. Its shadow cut across the crowd, a sharp black line, pointed at the end like a sword or a knife. Alaster heard the bell tolling, low and sonorous, as they flew past. The streets leading to the church were thronging as well. It seemed that the churchmen at least were still performing their duties, even if the rest of the planet was spiralling down the drain.

'You wouldn't believe it could fall apart so fast,' Nasty's voice said through Alaster's earphones.

'What else do you do when you get bad news like this?' Alaster said.

'I'm surprised as skak that they found out so soon,' Nasty said.

'You can see the Nid mothership now,' Alaster said. 'There was no way it was staying secret.'

He glanced up at the sky. For Minoris and its damaged climate, this was about as nice a day as was possible. There wasn't even too much cloud and the two suns were shining with a watery light. The atmosphere was still dusty from the earlier, smaller impact. It was a hazy silver. To think that impact had once seemed the worst thing to happen! Now it was possible to feel nostalgic for those days, when the planet hadn't been lost.

Even on this tranquil day, there were signs of doom. Looking out toward the western horizon, down low, there was a daylight star. It hadn't been there the last time Alaster was on this planet. It wasn't prominent yet, but it was slowly getting brighter. As the mothership fell closer to the doomed planet over the next few hours, that star would brighten. A few hours before the end, it would resolve to a clear disk, even to human eyeballs. In the last hour, it would grow rapidly. Then it would fill the sky over the Emperor-forsaken part of the planet that it would strike.

And then this world would cease to be, if not as a physical planet then definitely as a human place. The star was an unwelcome reminder of the approaching menace.

'What's going on with the bugs, down south?' Nasty asked.

'Apparently they've fallen apart,' Alaster said. 'No co-ordination, no strategy. Some fighting, but no coherence. The Hive Mind knows they're toast, I guess. So it's thrown them away. Apparently it's hurling everything it's got against Majoris now.'

'So it's trying to get in there?' Nasty asked.

'Yes,' Alaster said. 'Makes sense, I guess. This planet's not worth fighting over now.'

'And what about in orbit?' Nasty asked. 'I keep seeing a lot of flashes.'

He was right. Glancing up at the sky, past the thin cirrus, Alaster saw one then. A brief flash of light, as silent as it was sharp. Some gun being fired, beyond the atmosphere. 'Apparently the Nids are making a push for Majoris,' Alaster said. 'They're throwing everything they've got at the ships up there.'

'Last roll of the die,' Nasty said.

'Basically,' Alaster agreed. 'If they can even just push a few spores through, then they've got a chance. It means the fleet are really busy.'

'And with all those ships blown up before,' Nasty said, 'well, skak. That can't help.'

'No, it doesn't,' Alaster agreed. 'The entire fleet's engaged. What's left of it. I gather it's intense. The Nids really are giving it everything. It's making for real problems with the shipping up there.' He glanced down at the teleporter. 'Maybe that's why they're keen on using these things.'

Suddenly, Nasty said, 'Why don't they teleport people up?'

Alaster took a second to realised what he meant. 'You mean, from the city and stuff?' Nasty's helmet nodded. 'Umm. I don't know if that's a good idea. Pulling a lot of people through the Warp, you know…' He trailed off.

'Ah,' Nasty said, seeing Alaster's point. 'Not good, I guess. Though we've done it!'

'Yeah but we're Space Marines and they aren't,' Alaster pointed out. 'That probably makes a difference. And – let's be honest – I didn't like it very much myself. It kind of felt wrong.'

'Yeah, true,' Nasty said.

'And anyway, even if they did do a teleporter-vacuum – where would you put all the people? The problem is simple. There aren't enough ships to get them between planets.'

Nasty considered it for a minute. 'Can't they just – like – teleport people between planets?'

Alaster glanced up. Halfway behind a cloud, he could see the crescent of Majoris. Even in daylight you could see some points of light on its nightside. The cooling arrays, he knew now, glowing furiously away into space. 'I guess if they could,' he said, 'they'd be doing it, right?'

He looked back at the daylight star. From this angle, it was close to one of the columns of smoke. The oily black plume rose into the sky beside it. 'And we know shooting it won't work,' he added. 'We just don't have the firepower anymore.'

Nasty looked down at the city below them. They were flying over another mob. No-one appeared to take any notice of the passing Ravens. Alaster supposed they were too high up to be prominent.

'So we're going to be shooting our own people,' Nasty said. He didn't sound pleased.

Alaster looked at him. 'Your tone,' he said. 'You sound a bit like Patreus did, before we got the head Loser.'

'Maybe he had a point,' Nasty said.

'If they try to storm the port,' Alaster said, 'what else can we do? Let them?'

'So we'll kill them instead,' Nasty said. 'We'll do what power always does.'

'It's not like we actually want to,' Alaster pointed out.

'We didn't want to kill that lot at the street, did we?' Nasty said. 'But we did.'

Alaster felt a fresh discomfort. The Originists – and just what were Originists doing here, on Minoris? He realised they hadn't even crossed his mind since the other day. The new bad news had eclipsed everything.

'Can you remember how many you killed?' Nasty said. 'I can't. But I did kill them. In fact I remember being skakked with you, holding the violence up. I wanted to get my skakking axe into their skakking-stupid skulls. I wanted to scrag some dumb Originist scum.'

'Haven't you always?' Alaster asked.

'But don't tell me you didn't feel angry too – they spat on you!'

Alaster remembered the gobbet of phlegm, flying through the air. He remembered the little splash as it found its mark. He remembered it dribbling down his shoulder pad. And he clearly remembered the rage he'd felt, the complete, burning fury at the total disrespect shown to his army.

'Yes,' he admitted, 'but it was a stupid thing to do. Oh look, there's a Space Marine, why don't we see if we can provoke him?'

'But that's the skakking thing,' Nasty said. 'Killing. It's _easy_ for us. I don't feel guilty about it, and you don't too. Admit it. We ripped through the Emperor knows how many civilians – and we're not bothered about it. And we're going to do it again today.'

'And this is a problem?' Alaster asked.

Nasty was quiet for a moment. Then he said, 'No. It isn't. But I wonder if maybe it should be.'

'We're nothing,' Alaster said, 'except what the Chapter made us to be. We were made this way so we can serve the Emperor's will. And don't forget, you chose this – and so did I! We were given every chance to back out and we didn't.'

'You forget,' Nasty said with asperity. 'If I'd skakking backed out, they'd have hung me.'

'Oh yes!' Alaster blinked inside his helmet. 'So they would've!'

Nasty's helmet turned toward him. The sunlight caught his eye-lenses with a sparkle. 'Brother, I'm a murderer,' he said. 'Fourteen bodies, before they packed me off to the courts. Only I get to be a Space Marine. I get pardoned. And then what happens? I get to kill more people. I've killed more people now then I did before I was a marine. Before, they wanted to hang me. Now they pat me on the back and tell me it's my duty! A death is a death, right? What's the difference? I'll tell you what it is. What's different is that I've got a skakking uniform!' He tapped the head of his axe against his breastplate. 'And apparently that makes skakking murder into skakking duty!'

'The people at the street were standing in the way of the Emperor's will,' Alaster said. He tried to sound calm and definite. He wasn't sure how well he was succeeding. Nasty's words had echoes of his own misgivings.

'They were Originists,' Nasty said. 'The people I murdered were Originists too. They're like rats – the skakkers get everywhere! Some skakking difference. Murdering my girlfriend didn't make them heretics … but standing in front of a Rhino did? What's worse, murder or standing in a road?'

'I tried to talk them down,' Alaster said, 'and they wouldn't do it. And don't forget, they shot first!' He sounded defensive. He felt uncomfortable.

'Yeah but only just. I don't know if I'd call that silly little pistol a gun. For all the good it did it may just've spat out a flag saying BANG! Now this is a gun!' Nasty waved his bolt pistol about with passion. The comparative effectiveness of firearms was a subject close to the Space Marines' hearts.

'Kodos ordered us to take them down. So we did.'

'Yes,' Nasty said. 'And we skakking liked it, didn't we? Teach the skakkers a lesson, they had it coming, following orders, all that. Face it, Brother. Neither you nor me minded the killing.'

Alaster was silent.

Nasty waved his axe at the streets below. 'And we're not going to skakking mind the skakking killing we're going to do soon, are we?'

'We have our orders,' Alaster said. 'That is justification enough.'

'But if we aren't bothered about killing,' Nasty said, 'how are we to know when it isn't justified?'

Alaster thought about it. 'When we're told that it's not,' he said. It seemed like a weak argument – probably, he thought glumly, because it was a weak argument. He added, 'Why, are you thinking about not doing what you're told?'

'No!' Nasty sounded genuinely shocked at the suggestion. He was, of course, a Space Marine. Obedience was ingrained into them.

'Then there's not a lot to talk about, is there?' Alaster said.

They fell silent. They flew on, toward the spaceport. It was visible now, an expanding grey blotch near the horizon. As they flew Alaster found himself thinking about the conflict. It was taking its toll on all of them, he realised. Was this what the rest of his life was going to be like? Flying on under a grey sky, between dirty plumes of smoke, from futile battle to futile battle? Of course he didn't regret the choice he'd made back at the school, not even for a moment. Being a Space Marine was worth it just for that honour in of itself – service was indeed its own reward.

But there was a part of his mind that couldn't help but wonder – if he'd known then what he knew now, what would his earlier self have done?

And Alaster realised that he didn't know.

They were at the spaceport.

The sky overhead was an ominous mixture of thin grey cirrus and dense black smoke. An icy wind had picked up, coming from the west. There were clouds on the horizon. There was a hint in the wind that the weather might be turning. The wind was driving the thin cloud up overhead. The suns and Majoris were still visible, as was the day-star. It was low over the cityscape to the west. It was flanked by the dark spires of two church steeples. Despite its brightness it was hazy and ill-focused behind the cirrus, as were the suns and Majoris.

The spaceport was a wide expanse of thermocrete, blackened here and there by ship exhausts. Even now, shuttles and spaceplanes were taking off and landing at short intervals. The relative quiet would be shattered by the deafening roar of their engines. Sometimes also there would be a flash of actinic light from their drives, as they punched their way skywards. With each roar the ground would shake under foot.

Alaster looked around, scanning the terrain. The concourse buildings were all grouped on one side of the port area. Secondary control towers were dotted around the wall along its edges. Alaster and Nasty were setting up on top of one of the towers. The wall was about twenty metres away. Between it and the tower was the thin line of a chainlink fence, hastily erected as a second line of defence. It too encircled the landing area.

Beyond the wall was a sea of ragged people.

The airport was served by a dense tangle of roads and trainlines. They were all at a standstill. Every empty space was filled by people. All ages, all genders and all social groups were there. They were creating a huge tumult. They were demanding to be let in. They were offering bribes. They were pleading. They were crying. They were shouting defiant insults. Every human reaction one could imagine was exhibited beyond the wall. It was a sea of people and a storm of emotion.

Even at this distance, Alaster could sense the mood of furious betrayal that hung over these people. All throughout this war they'd been promised victory, they'd been promised protection, they had been promised one last effort and one last sacrifice. Every time the propaganda machine had lied. And now the world was dying and they found themselves locked out, locked out from the one place that they could escape this nightmare.

Betrayal. They felt betrayed.

Alaster looked down at the bolt pistol, gripped in the blue-black gauntlet around his hand. He turned it over. The Imperial eagle embossed on the side caught the diffuse sunlight with a shimmer of gold. Alaster looked back up at the crowd. He knew he and his brothers should be protecting those people. He thought about what Kodos had said, on the Thunderhawk. That, in a sense, by holding the port so more people could leave before the end, they were. But to protect those people, the marines would almost certainly have to kill some of them. The mood carried on the wind was ugly. A riot was a certainty.

There was a paradox here, Alaster thought. To save the people, they would have to kill some of them. But how can you save a person when they were dead? It didn't make sense. He had his orders, he had no choice but to follow them – but none of it made sense. He'd been raised to believe in a universe given order and form by the guidance of the God-Emperor – but how could there be order if things didn't add up? How could one thing exclude another, and yet both be true?

_We will leave_, he thought, _and all these people will die._ Surely it was the duty of the Space Marines to sacrifice themselves so that others could live, not the other way round?

Alaster's eyes drew back to the eagle, gleaming weakly in the light. He shook his head. Then he felt a sense of pure horror wash through him. He ran his last few thoughts back through his mind. He realised that for a few moments there, he had actually questioned his duty. No – worse then that! He had stood right on the precipice. He had almost contemplated the idea of…

He swallowed. He didn't want to admit it to himself.

The wind moaned over the roof of the squat tower. Alaster forced himself to confront the truth of what had very nearly happened inside his head. He had, for a moment then, come within a whisker of contemplating disobedience. Rebellion against lawful orders. The idea made him feel physically ill. There would have to be a confession of this, he thought, and there would have to be penances. Serious ones. This was a major error, even if it had happened only inside his head.

Suddenly, he turned round to Nasty. 'What you were saying earlier,' Alaster said. 'It's this war. It's taken all of us right to the edge. The way we take ground, only to lose it again the moment we leave. The way everything and everyone's skakked up and next to useless. The way the Bugs just keep coming back and back and back. And the way it just keeps going downhill at every turn. That's why we have to do what's necessary today. One way or another, this needs to end.'

Nasty's helmet stared back at him for a minute. Then he nodded.

'That's why we need skakking Patreus back,' Nasty said. 'He's good at reminding us what we're for.'

Alaster nodded. 'Truly spoken. Let's get this thing set up.' He gestured at the tripod, lying on the floor.

The tower roof was a flat, grey space, bounded by a low wall with a single railing running over it. A big satellite dish sat on one side of the space. On the other were some air conditioning units and a plain brick hut. The hut had a door, opening onto the stairs to the lower floors. The two Space Marines set the tripod up right in the centre of the open space, so there would be plenty of room. As they did the floor rumbled with the takeoff of another ship.

Alaster pushed the button down with his thumb. It light up. The tripod beeped loudly. The wind moaned around them. Alaster and Nasty stepped back, to give the new arrivals some space.

There was a flicker and a pop of displaced air. Sergeant Solyn and the first two of his marines had arrived. There was a noticeable vibration in the floor beneath them as the three marines appeared. There was also a loud triple thud.

Solyn was quite recognisable, Alaster noticed. As well as the skull on the brow of his helmet, he wore Mark Six armour. His squad number and company insignia were painted on the curved surface of his greaves, where the knee pads would have been. His helmet was of the pointed, bascinet-type with the downward-turned point.

It did, Alaster had to admit to himself, look a bit like a beak.

Under one arm Solyn was carrying a massive power axe rather than the more usual chainsword. Alaster wondered where he'd got it from. In his other hand he had a plasma pistol, like Kodos.

Solyn's helmet looked at both of them. 'So you're Karo and Shepherd,' he said, without preamble. Alaster nodded. Nasty winced. Solyn said, 'Kodos has told me about you. You can help us set up, since you're here.'

The first two Devastators through had a plasma cannon each. They were setting them up on tripedal mounts, with the intention of using them as improvised gun emplacements. Alaster and Nasty helped them set up. Once the weapons were positioned, the Devastators got to manning them. They moved with quiet professionalism. It was refreshing, Alaster felt, to be fighting alongside his own for once. While fighting alongside other Ravens, he felt they wouldn't have to risk the usual cock-ups that had dogged them throughout this war.

The other Devastators came through until the squad was assembled. Then, to Alaster's surprise, they were followed by Lakon and Kaylos. Lakon had again reluctantly decided on Terminator armour.

As he was helping set up another gun, Alaster listened in with half an ear. Kaylos and Lakon were talking to Solyn. Alaster supposed that if it was secret, they wouldn't discuss matters where other marines could hear them.

He gathered they were doing some sort of inspection, seeing how the perimeter was being set up around the port. Then he heard something that caught his interest.

'Hold up,' Lakon said, raising a hand for silence. Kaylos and Solyn respectfully fell silent. 'Just getting a message,' Lakon said.

There was a pause, then he added, 'That's interesting. Kodos is coming here – apparently he has news.'

Shortly after, Alaster heard the whine and then the growl of a jump pack. An instant afterwards a shadow appeared on the roof, and then Kodos dropped down. He banged his breastplate in salute. 'My lord,' he said.

'What is it?' Lakon asked.

'I've been at the terminal building,' Kodos explained. 'We're evacuating the last of the Octalian Guard forces. I was marshalling people – it was a mess in there! But some of our men brought something to me.'

'What is it?' Lakon asked.

'Who, more like. My lord, you remember the attack on the guard post, in the Hydra Delta?'

Alaster's ears pricked up. The Hydra Delta? He only remembered one attack there – and that ahd been the one where he and the others had stood firm against a Tyranid assault. It had been the action that had recovered their honour after the earlier disgrace, and the action that had earned them geneseed.

But why bring it up now?

Lakon said, 'What about it?'

'It turns out,' Kodos said, 'that we've still got the Originist saboteur.'

'What? I thought he had brain damage? Was comatose?'

'He does. Karo socked him one good. He's a vegetable. But they've had him sat on life support at one of the hospitals, all this time. And he's lying on a stretcher at the terminal building. What do you want me to do with him, my lord?'

For a moment Lakon actually sounded surprised. 'I'd not realised he was still alive out there somewhere!'

'He might have useful intelligence. Should we evacuate him?'

'No,' Lakon was firm. 'We can't give a traitor a flight out – not if it takes a seat away from an innocent! That would be wrong. He can stay. He deserves his end.'

'The intelligence,' Kaylos put in, 'is a good point, my lord Captain. This Originist filth had to get here somehow. He might know something useful.'

'I thought there'd been a purge,' Solyn said. 'I thought we'd got rid of all the sympathisers in the Guard staff.'

'What if we missed someone?' Kaylos said. 'This Originist vegetable might have that information locked in his brain somewhere. It could be got out. A séance. Or a cybernetic probe. But they take time – we couldn't get results in the time we have left here. And not if we need to fight a battle first.'

Lakon considered it. Then he said, 'I still maintain that we can't evacuate a traitor. And the other options aren't practical. But you're right about the intelligence.' He fell silent for a moment. 'There's only one option. Sorry, Kodos, but you're going to have to eat his brain.'

'An _Originist_?' Kodos sounded revolted. 'Emperor forbid!'

'Is there another option?' Lakon asked.

'My lord,' Solyn said, 'what about the omophagea problem?'

It was, Alaster knew, the other of the two signature mutations of the Storm Raven geneseed. Thinking about it, he ran his tongue over his teeth. The canines were appreciably-pointed now, more then they had been before. That was the cosmetic mutation, and in most brothers it wasn't even that significant. Ravens only rarely produced Wolf-like fangs. But the omophagea issue was more significant. He vaguely understood that it was something to do with the enzyme balance in the stomach. The concentration was too low and the mapping of neural structures took too long. By the time the omophagea could extract much information from it, the tissue in question would already be mostly digested. It was one of the reasons why the Storm Ravens didn't share the cannibalistic practices of some Chapters.

The other reason, of course, was moral distaste for such dubious activities.

Lakon said, 'We'll just have to chance it, I'm afraid. You'll probably get at least something from it. That's better than the alternative, which is no intelligence at all.'

'Do I have to do this?' Kodos said, sounding grumpy. 'The skakker's bound to be all stringy. He'll get stuck between my teeth.'

'Think of the Emperor, Brother-Sergeant,' Lakon said. 'And you only need to gag down the brain, after all. We don't care about the rest of the carcass.'

'Well,' Kodos sighed, 'the sooner I'm done with this, the better! With your leave, my lord?'

Lakon nodded. There was a rumble as Kodos lit his jump pack. Then he was gone.

Alaster looked toward the west. To his surprise, he saw a void between the two church spires. He realised that the day-star must have set while they were talking. Strange to think that something like that would rise and fall like all the other, normal stars. He wondered if its absence meant anything.

Perhaps surprisingly, the next few hours were quiet. It was tense, but little actually happened. Ships carried on lumbering up into the sky, loaded to the bows with the last rounds of desperate refugees. A small handful of people found themselves allowed into the concourse, counting their blessings, cheering or crying with relief as they stumbled into the waiting departure queues. Outside a greater number of people, beyond the walls and the barbed wire, watched their friends and loved ones escape into the relative calm of the concourse. For these people at least there was the small consolation that someone they knew and cared about would escape the coming carnage. Beyond them was the greater mass of people. They watched the second group with bitter envy, and they watched the first group as if they were traitors.

The situation was quiet, but the tension was rising.

Hours passed. Day slid into evening and then into night in Albatross. There was little darkness, though. Powerful floodlights illuminated the landing pads and searchlights shone out over the crowd beyond. The Space Marines remained at their stations, manning their positions, watching vigilantly.

Clouds were filling one half of the sky. They obscured the vigilant gaze of the Tech-Priests' observation satellites. In various tactical centres, puzzled eyes stared at various screens. Here and there were hints of movement near Albatross, but the signal was weak. The clouds were eating too much of the flux and the resolution on what was left was awful. Few details could be gleaned. Some meetings were held and some discussions happened amongst the Imperial tacticians, but little emerged from the discussion. The messy telltales certainly were not ignored, but it was agreed that there was just too little information. It was also agreed that there probably wasn't much point sending out a patrol or doing reconnaissance by fire. The planet was basically lost and only scant hours away from its end. It was hard to see what could happen on the surface that would make much of a difference.

At Albatross spaceport, at oh four oh nine hours in the night, so late it was now early, the wind was cold and the air felt tense. The Space Marines were still watching over the port walls. The crowd beyond was growing more and more restive.

Standing guard alongside Captain Lakon, the librarian felt it. Kaylos too was struck by an additional, peculiar sense of unease. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite tell what. His perceptions were still fuzzed around the edges by the Shadow.

Down below, in the city, a rumour had started somewhere. Someone heard something from someone else, who'd heard a garbled tale from another person, and they all believed it. But it grew on the re-telling, as these things are prone to. One person claimed to have seen the marines at the port's only open gate stop someone entering. The next person to hear it claimed they weren't letting anyone through. Then the next person embellished it further, claiming they were shooting anyone who tried to pass.

In this febrile atmosphere, the story spread and mutated. Many versions emerged. Some enthusiasts claimed the Space Marines were moving through the crowd, mowing down anyone who past. Others claimed Thunderhawks were en route, to mow the crowd down. Others claimed deathsquads were already among them.

The crowd had been scared before. Now its fear had found a target.

Over near the fourth of the wall towers, the crowd started throwing stones. At first these met with no response. Then one of the Space Marine – Doom Eagles, in this case - positions fired a warning shot over the crowd, intending to calm them down. It didn't work.

Someone in the crowd, a deserting PDF trooper, had a missile launcher with him. He'd planned a break-in with it, to get past the barriers, but now he panicked. He'd heard the rumours, and now he thought he was seeing the Astartes shooting into the crowd. So he did what came naturally for a soldier.

He shot back.

The night was briefly ripped open by the howl of the projectile and the fire of its passage as it ripped through the air. It smacked into the side of the tower, exploding with a powerful bang.

The tower rocked, but stood.

From their point of view, the marines had come under attack. So they too hit back. And they hit back with heavy weapons. But that wasn't the end of it. There were many people in the crowd with some sort of weapon to hand, and they started shooting back. The engagement quickly escalated. Similar firefights started breaking out in a spreading wave of carnage, running around the spaceport. More deaths, more killing.

And out beneath the dark clouds, beyond the crowds and beyond the lamps ringing the spaceport, there was movement.

Alaster looked at his display's clock. It was some dreadful hour in the morning. He was still at the tower, along with Nasty and Solyn's Devastators. They'd been there for several long hours. The night was black. In fact, dawn was only a few hours away. It would be the last dawn the planet would know as a living world. Impact was now only sixteen hours away. There was still no sign of the false star. Alaster wondered when it would rise next. The sky overhead was mostly cloud. Only a few, cold stars leaked through in the gaps. Majoris had set.

In the distance there was some sooty orange backlighting, from the fires raging throughout Albatross. They had got worse as the night wore on, Alaster noted. Surely the rioters must be running out of stuff to burn?

He and Nasty were watching the crowd. They were stood at the front of the tower. It had been a quiet night so far.

'Well,' Nasty said quietly, 'we haven't had to kill anyone yet.'

'Give it time,' Alaster said, feeling cynical. Where was Patreus when you needed him?

'Hey, what was that?' Nasty said. He pointed.

Alaster turned. 'What was it?' Nasty was pointing at one of the towers, on the far side of the launch pads. It was small in the distance, but were Alaster's eyes deceiving him, or could he see smoke?

'I saw a flash,' Nasty said.

Suddenly there was another flash, from atop the tower. Out in the dark beyond, something exploded.

'Skak,' Alaster said. 'A firefight's breaking out!'

Sure enough, little lights were sparkling all over the far side of the port. Alaster heard a faint bang, followed quickly by another one. Little puffs of smoke started erupting from the ground. Then the far towers answered. Alaster watched rockets and plasma bolts blast into the distance.

'Brothers – it's starting!' he heard Solyn say. 'Be ready!'

Alaster turned his attention to the crowd in front of them. That was where the next attack would come from. He readied his jump pack, feeling the controlled rumble as the fan assemblies spun up. His thumb rested on the button of his chainsword. The sounds of the fight on the far side were louder now, crackles, roars, growls and bangs. It was spreading, he realised.

A flare went up, casting a bright light over the scene. It crackled as it rose. Everything was starkly outlined for a moment in the dazzling ruddy light. Alaster could see it all. The crowd. The wall, the chainlink fence. His gun and sword, in front of him. The scuffed and battered roof of the tower. The thermocrete of the launchpads below, scarred and marked from generations of spacecraft. In the distance, Alaster noted, the city before them was now strongly aflame. It hadn't been a minute ago – fire was fast!

'That's a skakker of a flare!' Alaster said admiringly.

'Uh,' Nasty said, 'I don't know what the skak that is – but thatt's not a flare!' He pointed at something with his axe.

Alaster looked. He saw something in the distance, above the city. There were several somethings, backlit by the ruddy flames rising below. He zoomed his helmet eyelenses in. For a moment he got the impression of some sort of winged shape, but even as his eyes focused, it blurred and shimmered in the heathaze rippling up from the dying city. For a moment, he blinked. He looked again – it was gone.

'No,' he agreed, 'I don't know what that was.'

He was about to say more when a new noise caught his attention. It was in the middle distance, a screeching, creaking sound. He looked down, toward the chainlink fence beyond. The crowd were on it. Fear, anger and despair was written across their faces. They were tugging and pulling on the chainlink. He could hear them shouting and crying and cursing as they tore at it. The creak-screech was the chainlink, bending and breaking.

His earphones crackled. It was Lakon. 'Brothers, look sharp,' the captain's voice said. 'They're breaking in. All around the spaceport. Looks like we're going to have to fight them back. Remember - the ships must be protected! Every ship that can't take off is dozens fewer survivors tomorrow. Remember your duty, brothers. Lakon out.'

'Here we go,' Nasty said.

With a desperate screech of twisted metal, the chainlink finally gave way.


	51. Chapter 51 The Emperor's Grace

The crowd surged.

With a final, helpless creak the chainlink peeled away. A human tide flooded through the gap. Desperate faces, outreached hands, dirty faces, tear-filled eyes, torn clothes, ragged hair – forward they poured, making for the only hope that they could see.

Alaster felt a sick apprehension as he looked down from the tower. He wasn't afraid for himself, of course. This crowd posed him little risk. Most of them weren't even armed. He felt apprehensive for what he knew he would shortly have to do. Surely firing on Imperial civilians had to be a violation of one of his oaths?

His mind flashed back to his initiation, in the chapel atop the Ravenholme. He remembered the oaths he'd sworn, before leaving for this world. None of them, he realised, specifically precluded what they would have to do here.

Taken by a sudden urge, he sprinted forward, to the low wall at the edge of the tower. To the crowd below, he shouted, 'TURN BACK! IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR, TURN BACK!'

They paid him no mind. If anything, he was even more thoroughly ignored then he had been back with the Rhino previously.

'Karo, get back here,' he heard Solyn growl. 'You're in the line of fire!'

Without even realising he was doing it, Alaster had put himself between one of the plasma weapons and the crowd below. Alaster couldn't see the Devastator's eyes, but something about the angle of the marine's helmet and his posture suggested an impatient glare. The other Raven was stood behind the plasma cannon, hands gripped firmly on the handles. The light from the vents played over his front, gleaming on his chest eagle and reflecting in two bright spots on his eyelenses. Black shadows pooled around him. Half his helmet was in shadow, bringing out the growl on the front even more. He was clearly ready to fight. Whatever reluctance Alaster was feeling, it wasn't shared.

With no choice but to follow orders, Alaster walked back to stand beside Nasty. His boots clunked on the floor. He stood there, ready, waiting for the inevitable.

'On my count,' Solyn sad, 'fire.' Yet more people were spewing through the breach in the chainlink below. The noise they made was clearly audible here atop the tower. 'Three. Two. One.'

By now the crowd was almost through the nearest edge of the thermocrete. From there it was only yards to the base of the tower.

The plasma cannons rumbled. The air was filled with a sharp, actinic ozone scent. Dazzling, blue-white bolts erupted from the guns. They jerked against their stands, the marines manning them wrestling them so that they stayed on target.

The bolts howled through the air, leaving a sizzling roar behind them. Alaster watched as they crashed into the crowd below.

Even from up there, Alaster heard the screams. People were hurled around like rag dolls. Burnt bodies tumbled to the ground, some of them still moving. Alaster heard the wailing of the newly-injured.

More bolts hammered into the ground.

For the first time since the start of this war, Alaster actually found he had to look away. It wasn't the violence itself that appalled him, but the huge mismatch of power. It seemed wholly unfair to be using Space Marines against civilians! This whole business, Alaster realised, felt dishonourable. What use were they if this was what their efforts had come to?

Nasty, he noted, wasn't looking at the crowd either. Instead he was still looking up, out toward the burning city. As the plasma bolts howled out, he strobed in and out of view.

There were more explosions from below, and more screams as more of the Devastators' fire found its targets.

'There's more of them,' Nasty said, speaking quietly.

'There's a whole city out there,' Alaster said grimly. 'It's not going to run out any time soon.'

'No, I didn't mean them. Look up!'

Alaster did. Nasty was pointing into the sky again. Alaster looked.

'Skak,' he said. 'Tyranids!'

There were Gargoyles in the sky! He could see them, flying in on the thermals rising from the burning city. He realised they were what he had glimpsed moments earlier. Now that they were closer, he could see them clearly. Outstretched wings, extended talons, wedge-shaped, alien heads … he felt a fresh surge of hate for the monstrous things.

An instant later, his earphones crackled. 'This is Lakon,' the captain's voice said. 'Airborne hostiles spotted. Tyranids. All Assault units, engage! Repeat, all air-capable units, engage the xenos.'

'Where the skak did they come from?' Nasty asked.

'Who knows?' Alaster said. He spoke quickly, feeling a sudden eagerness. His gauntleted hands were clutched tightly on his weapons. 'Doesn't matter where they came from, but it's got to beat roasting civilians! With me!'

He didn't wait for Solyn to say anything. With a forceful roar and a sharp jerk on his harness, his jump pack lit. Alaster leapt up into the air. Nasty was immediately behind him. The tower and the Devastators dropped away below them. A quick downward glance revealed that they were holding off the civilian mob without any real difficulty.

Alaster turned his attention toward the approaching aliens.

The Gargoyles were flying fast. They were on the two Space Marines moments later. 'Here they come!' Alaster shouted. He saw one in particular turn its chitin-plated, angular head in his direction. A flare of plasma below reflected as a sharp glint in the alien's eyes.

It dived toward him.

Alaster swung his thrusters round, pushing himself slightly to one side. He was jerked savagely against his harness. He took a deep breath, smelling the familiar rubber-and-metal scent of his rebreather.

The xeno sailed into the space he'd just occupied.

Alaster brought his chainsword down, hard. He mashed his thumb down on the activation button. The blade growled. It reverberated up his arm.

It connected with the xeno.

The growl became a roar. The teeth bit into one of the alien's wings. Alaster wrenched the sword. The wing was torn. The Gargoyle keened in sudden agony. Alaster ripped the blade free.

Crippled, the alien dropped away below. Alaster lined up his bolt pistol. It kicked against his hand. The bolt slammed through the air, straight into the alien skull. It was smashed open. The beast was dead before it even hit the ground.

The next one was almost on him.

It had its wings outstretched. Its talons were raised. The searchlights from below glinted on the wickedly sharp edges. It was ready to sink them into him. There wasn't time to evade.

So Alaster didn't.

He fired his thrusters again. He moved himself toward the alien. When it swung its talons, they missed, sailing through a space just behind him. He felt one of them scrape off his backpack, but it did no more than score the paintwork.

As he closed with the alien, Alaster brought his chainsword up.

The xeno was thrown straight onto the spinning blade. It cut clean through it. For a moment, the bisected alien hung off of Alaster's blade. Then he swung up a leg and kicked it clear. It tumbled off toward the ground, guts and ichor spewing out through the ragged section running from its shoulder to its waist.

Alaster took stock of his surroundings. Two dozen metres to his side, Nasty was just finishing off another Gargoyle. As Alaster watched, he lopped its head off with a swing of his axe. Its corpse spun helplessly off toward the ground. Then, suddenly, everything was quiet. No new foe presented itself. Alaster looked out again, toward the city.

There was another round of Gargoyles closing toward them.

'You ready?' he asked Nasty.

'Ready as skak!' Nasty enthused. 'I'm skakking enjoying this!'

'Yeah, this is a better fight then we were expecting,' Alaster agreed.

His earphones crackled. 'This is Kodos,' a familiar voice said. 'What are you doing, Karo?'

'Holding off Gargoyles, Sergeant,' Alaster reported.

'Where are you?'

He rattled off the coordinates, and their altitude.

'How many have you got incoming?'

Alaster looked up and did a quick count. 'Thirty-nine,' he said.

'Okay, we're sending you some reinforcement,' Kodos's voice said. 'It'll be there in one minute. You need to hold till then, though.'

A minute? That didn't sound impossible. 'Okay, acknowledged,' Alaster said.

Then the Gargoyles were on them.

Thirty-nine Gargoyles versus two Space Marines wasn't ideal. They were better matched then they would have been with the civilians on the ground. Alaster found himself having to engage several aliens at once. His world became a mass of flashing claws, biting mouths and savage fangs, ducking, diving, the roar of bolt pistols and the growl of his sword. Alien corpse after alien corpse went tumbling off toward the ground below.

Still, it was a close fight. Alaster felt numerous alien claws scrape over his armour. At one point, a powerful kick struck his still-damaged foot. It sent a fresh surge of pain through his partly-healed ankle. For an instant, the pain distracted him and he had to duck aside from a biting pair of alien jaws.

Moments later, the reinforcement arrived.

There was a growl of engines and a rumble of thrust. Then a repeating, staccato roar ripped through the air. Alien bodies to Alaster's left exploded with erupting plumes of ichor. The wave of destruction approached him. Then, for a moment, the roar stopped. Then it started up again, and the wave of destruction began to Alaster's right.

There was another blip in the sound as it passed Nasty.

Then, the air was free of gaunts.

'Well-met, brothers,' someone said.

Alaster turned. Behind them was the reinforcement – one of the Fourth Company's landspeeders! The sound had been its heavy bolter, as its holy fire ripped aliens to pieces. One of the two marines aboard it, the driver, was waving.

Alaster and Nasty moved in on either side of the vehicle.

'Thanks,' Alaster said. 'That was some good shooting.'

'That's okay,' the other marine said. 'We'd have warned you, but there wasn't time.'

Alaster tried to look for their heraldry, but he couldn't see the marine's knee pads. Then, finally, he managed to place the voice. Brother-Corporal Agrastil, of Sergeant Ralnex's squad. 'Is there any intelligence on where this lot are coming from?' Alaster asked.

'You could ask if there's any intelligence at all,' the other marine muttered. He was sat behind the shield of his heavy bolter. 'Seems in short supply around here.'

'Behave, Tallin,' Agrastil said. To Alaster, he said, 'Apparently there was something seen moving under the clouds. Infrared spirits or something. Only apparently nobody bothered to tell us. Some Nids trying to escape, possibly. Put some spores on one of the shuttles, something like that, perhaps.'

'Or maybe they're just hungry and want a snack,' Brother Tallin put in from behind his gun.

'What should do we do now?' Alaster asked.

'The perimeter needs scouting,' Agrastil said. 'Command needs to know if there's any more of those things out there.'

'Surely we'd have heard?' Nasty said. 'I mean, those skakkers down there ought to know!' He pointed at the remaining crowds around the perimeter fence. There was noticeably less of them, Alaster saw.

'The phones are all offline,' Agrastil said matter-of-factly. 'The electric's completely out now, in the city. The telephone exchange's on fire. The data network's not doing any better. We don't actually have any lines of communication beyond the spaceport, except with orbit.'

'So we've got no idea what's going on out there?' Alaster said.

'No,' Agrastil agreed. 'That's why we need to go and scout. You coming?'

The next few hours proceeded in that manner. It turned out that Albatross was undergoing a substantial Nid infestation. Apparently some of the half-glimpsed movement below the clouds had indeed been a large force, moving toward the city. It caused much consternation amongst the tacticians, up in orbit. Perhaps some of the previous disarray seen amongst the Nid forces had actually been a ruse, designed to make them drop their guard. Perhaps it had been genuine, and this was a last rally. Perhaps the arrival of so many Nids in the area actually was just some unfortunate coincidence, and more were being drawn in by the scent of fighting.

Opinions also differed as to why they were assaulting the spaceport. Some suspected it was just a random movement. Others thought it might be a last-ditch attempt at a breakout. One particularly innovative theory suggested that the Hive Mind was trying to Trojan some spores aboard the departing ships, before its impending death. It must think, so the argument went, that the Imperial forces would be less likely to fire at their own vessels, so if some spores were sent out that way, they'd have a better chance of getting to Majoris. Other people thought this was just paranoia, reading too much into the frenzied actions of mindless, witless beasts.

It was unlikely that anyone would ever know for sure what was going on down there. What the Imperial forces all did agree on, however, was that the spaceport still had to be held as long as was practicable. Even amidst the chaos, ships carried on taking off. And the Space Marines had done their work – none of the intruders had yet managed to break through onto the concourse. Queues of evacuees were still snaking through the terminal buildings, even as guns roared outside.

To the Space Marines on the ground, the root purpose of the Nid outbreak was of secondary importance. The main task was containing it. Between the rioting refugees and the attacking aliens, the forces defending the city were under some pressure.

Beyond his initial curiosity, Alaster certainly didn't have time to consider why exactly they were fighting here. Several hours of Bug-control ensued. After a short time, he and Nasty were re-joined by Kodos and the rest of the squad, along with the landspeeder. They were given a group of streets to keep Bug-free.

Alaster found himself fighting there, amongst the burnt-out wreckage of shops and apartment blocks. Jump packs rumbled, chainswords growled and bolt pistols roared. Nids hissed and chattered and died in large numbers. Rippers swarmed toward the waiting guns of the landspeeder, time after time. Each time, Brother Agrastil and Brother Tallin cheerfully shredded them.

It was a surreal scene. They were surrounded by the husks of buildings, the burnt wreckage of abandoned cars and the long dark streaks of fallen telegraph poles and electrical cables. It was late at night, but there was no darkness. The burning city beyond cast a flickering, ruddy light over the scene. The air was heavy with the scent of death and flames. At one point, the plume of ash and smoke from the city reached the clouds above. As it did, a dirty, sooty rain fell from the leaden sky. It left greyish streaks of sediment over the marines' armour and weapons. Alaster was particularly annoyed at the mess it made of his chest eagle, smearing and dulling the gold paint with gritty residue.

As Alaster was trying to wipe off one smear, a Termagaunt leapt at him. He caught its shadow, emerging from behind a broken wall, a moment too late. He saw the claws, scything toward him through the air. An angular, chitinous head was silhouetted against the burning backdrop of the city. For a moment Alaster saw the fires reflected in its eyes. Too little, too late, he brought up his chainsword-

There was a swipe and a flash of light, glinting off a blade's edge. The Nid's head sailed away. A trail of ichor sprayed out behind it.

The rest of it barrelled into Alaster's breastplate.

It hit him with such force that he was knocked backwards. Momentarily losing his balance, Alaster toppled over. The dead alien flopped over on top of him.

With a grunt, he flung it away.

'Here,' a voice said. 'I'll help you up.'

It was Nasty. He was stood in front of Alaster. He was holding out his axe. Alaster saw the smear of alien ichor along the blade edge. Gratefully, he grabbed the proffered handle and hauled himself back up to his feet.

'Thanks,' he said, nodding toward the dead alien.

'Don't mention it,' Nasty said.

They went back to fighting.

The most difficult part of the night's fighting came when they found themselves under attack from Genestealers. It happened several hours after the fight's start. The landspeeder crew saw something moving, up near an intersection of streets a hundred or so metres ahead of them. Fegust and Eorvan were sent to scout it out. Moments later they brought back the news that a clutch of genestealers was waiting, just round the corner.

A quick few moments' discussion led to a plan. Kodos and Nasty would go to the corner on th other side of the street, as if scouting the other side of the intersection. That would lure the genestealers out. Then, the other marines would use their jump packs to drop in behind them. The landspeeder would take them from the front. The genstealers would be boxed in on three sides. The plan was to time it to catch them just as they were running out of cover. It should be possible to gun most of them down straight away.

'You and Nasty will be exposed, Sergeant,' Alaster said.

'Yes, I know that,' Kodos snapped. 'But the pair of us are the best hand-to-hand fighters in the squad.'

Nasty suddenly stood up straighter.

Kodos's helmet shot him a ceramite glare. 'Not,' he added, 'that I'm saying you're actually any good. Just that the rest of you lot are pretty skakking useless.'

Alaster had to choke back laughter. Something about Nasty's posture suggested indignation.

'Okay,' Kodos said. 'If there are no more objections, then we go – now!'

He and Nasty engaged their jump packs and moved toward the street corner.

There was a subtlety to the plan. The others had to engage their packs, and head off toward the spaceport again. Just in case the aliens had any sort of sentries, it had to look as if the marines were splitting up. This was the danger point – if there were some unspotted aliens, who were to rush Kodos and Nasty while the others were headed away, then the plan could unravel.

Alaster had a tense few moments as he flew on his jump pack. He could feel the familiar rumble of the thrusters, as they moved toward the spaceport. Wrecked streets, all anonymous in the rubble, passed around him on every side. He was listening tensely to the comms in his helmet, waiting for Kodos and Nasty to call for urgent backup. His hands were tight on the hilt of his chainsword and the grip of his pistol. He could hear his breathing, regular and rhythmic in the confined space of his helmet.

At the prescribed time, they looped round and began flying back toward the intersection. The landspeeder dropped away to street level below them, speeding straight back up the avenue.

There was a crackle in Alaster's earphones. 'Here they come,' Kodos announced.

And there was the intersection. Alaster could see it just ahead of them, a cross of broken and soot-stained streets. Damaged buildings loomed over the tarmac like crooked teeth. Empty windows stared blindly out – there didn't seem to be a single intact window left anywhere in the city, Alaster noted. At this rate there wasn't going to be much of Albatross left for the falling alien ship to destroy.

And then there they were. A horde of genestealers – at least fifteen, Alaster counted. They were scurrying out from one of the street corners. And there, on the opposite side, were the two figures of Kodos and Nasty, looking small and isolated.

The intersection was growing fast. The Ravens were almost on it.

'Hurry up,' Kodos's voice growled.

Alaster caught a blur of motion – the landspeeder, coming up the avenue to their right. Then one of the genestealers staggered. Ichor spurted from various new holes. Its startled body toppled to the ground. The line of heavy bolter fire raked into the next alien.

The marines were over the street now. Alaster cut the thrusters on his jump pack. He dropped like a rock – a heavily-armed rock, at least. He landed, feeling the thump from the tarmac below him. He bent his knees to soften the impact and actually felt the whir of the servos in his greaves as they too absorbed kinetic energy.

There were several thumps around him as the other Ravens landed.

Up ahead, the landspeeder was carving a swathe through the xenos. Its cannon roared in the smoky night. Aliens convulsed and collapsed, bodies torn open by the storm of bolts. The last few genestealers had realised that they were trapped. As Alaster watched, they skidded to a holt and turned back.

They were running toward the waiting Space Marines.

Alaster raised his chainsword.

Moments later, the air was filled with the growl of blades and bark of bolt pistols. Alien and Astartes fought each other, up close. Alaster fired one of his bolts straight into the open mouth of a genestealer. Ichor and bone fragments erupted from the back of its head. He kicked it, sending the carcass falling to the ground. He turned, in time to hack another one apart with his chainsword.

Around him, the other Space Marines were doing much the same.

Moments later, Kodos and Nasty joined them. They fell upon the few remaining genestealers from behind. Nasty's axe flashed in the firelight. Alaster saw an alien's arm, hewn off at the elbow.

One more alien sprang at him. Alaster dropped to the floor and rolled. The genestealer sailed overhead. It landed without meeting its intended prey. It hit the tarmac in an ungainly heap, clearly unprepared for the sudden evasion.

From his prone position on the ground, Alaster shot it. The bolt pistol kicked in his hands. Chitin crunched. A burst of ichor spurted from the alien's back. It twitched, trying to turn.

The bolt pistol kicked again. A bolt smashed open its head. It flopped to the ground, dead.

The guns around him had fallen silent. Alaster scrambled to his feet. He looked around. There were moving aliens, just lots of corpses.

There was a whirr from the intersection. The landspeeder nosed around the junction. 'Did you get them all?' Agrastil called.

'Looks like it, Brother-Corporal,' Kodos agreed. 'Can you see any movement?'

'Negative from here,' Agrastil said.

'Good,' Kodos said. 'We'll go back to patrolling the area, then.'

Some more time passed.

After a while, a grey, murky dawn began to trickle in through the clouds. They weren't as heavy now – the heat from the fire was burning them off, it seemed. Patches of sky were showing through. By now the Space Marines had been fighting for many hours. Alaster had thrown himself into the combat. He was glad not to be at the spaceport. This was far better than the work some of his brothers had been undertaking there. Being brutally honest with himself, he had to admit that he saw little distinction between that work and mass murder. The only saving grace of it was the presence of orders. He was reminded more than a little of his earlier conversation with Nasty on the topic.

By now the city was much quieter than it had been. Many of the fires had guttered away. Anything that could burn, had been burned the night before. The gas mains were all ruptured and exhausted. As for the city's people, they were either dead at the spaceport, dead at the claws of the Tyranids or they had fled for the perceived refuge of the lands beyond. Albatross was little more than a charred necropolis now, a conurbation of ruins, ash and bones.

The only place not yet wholly destroyed was the spaceport. There was still a huddle of several thousand refugees, doggedly waiting beyond the main gates. The ground still periodically shook with the powerful exhalation of spacecraft engines, although less often now. Few of the ships were left.

Alaster and the squad found themselves back at the concourse as the grey dawn finally broke. They stood there on the desolate concrete as watery sunlight spilt redly in through the ashen sky. The wind was moaning over the scene. Behind them, a string of ragged-looking people were making their way toward one of the last ships.

Kodos looked around. Red morning sunlight glinted in his eyelenses. 'This will be over soon,' he said.

'Look,' Fegust said, pointing. He aimed his chainsword off to one side.

Alaster followed the line of sight. There was a gap in the ruined city towers beyond the spaceport perimeter. Beyond that was a gap in the clouds-

His breath caught. 'By the Emperor!'

'Hey,' Nasty said, 'that didn't look round last night!'

'Well,' Kodos said grimly, 'it does now.'

Alaster remembered the grim day-star that they'd seen previously. Sometime during the night, while it was invisible behind the bulk of the world, it had blossomed into a lumpy, uneven disc. There was no mistaking its presence now. There it was,fat and gibbous, a deathly greyish-white blot in the sky. Alaster stared at it. It looked every bit as foul as the things it had once spawned.

'So,' he said, 'that's what the end of the world looks like.'

The Space Marines' enhanced eyes could pick out a lot of detail. They could even see some of the damage from the battles in space, craters and pockmarks and burns running across the surface of the alien mothership.

'How long?' Nasty asked.

'Not long,' Kodos said.

There was a crackle in their earphones. 'This is Captain Lakon,' a familiar voice said. 'All units, begin withdrawal to the spaceport. We've got two hours until impact. Preflights on the Thunderhawks will take forty-five.

'I'm sure you've all seen what's looming over the horizon now. It's due in one hundred and thirty-nine minutes, sixteen seconds precisely. Looks like the impact site's going to be a dozen clicks out to sea from the mouth of the Hydra.

'I'm told that when this thing comes down, it'll set up some sort of shockwave. There'll be debris, thrown up to suborbital speeds. Pebbled, bouders, you name it. When that stuff re-enters the atmosphere – well, it's going to rain fire across the planet. Some of it'll stay up. And it's going to make travel nearby very dangerous for some time. We need to make sure we're clear of this place before then. The Thunderhawks will be lifting in sixty minutes from my mark. Be here by then or take your chances when the weather forecast comes up giant Nid-rocks. Mark. Lakon out.'

Alaster looked at the queue of people snaking across the tarmac. 'I wonder if they heard?' he said.

He noted that many fearful eyeswere being turned toward the sky. There was only one thing they could be looking at.

The rest of the evacuation was almost anti-climatic. It seemed the Nids had been exhausted in their earlier attack. There was only one further noteworthy incident. Its events came as something of a surprise to everyone concerned.

It was forty-seven minutes after Lakon's mark. The apron of the spaceport was pretty much empty of ships now. Only the Tunmderhawks remained. All of the other vessels were long gone vanished into the morning blueness. In the intervening time, the Nid mother ship had risen further into the sky. It had also visibly swelled. Alaster was surprised by how fast it was swelling. It was impossible to ignore. It was bigger than the disc of either sun now. And if you glanced away for a minute or so, then looked back, you could see visible motion. It was slight, but real.

The squad was stood on guard outside the main bay of the Thunderhawk as the last vehicles were loaded. There wasn't much to stand on guard for, except for a pathetic and tearful huddle of refugees who'd somehow found their way onto the apron. They were no threat. There were barely two dozen of them, scuffed, dirty, bruised and in some cases visibly-injured. Makeshift bandages were stained with blood and ragged clothes hung from gaunt frames. The marines were ignoring them – unfortunately, there wasn't room for any more of them.

'We're expecting one more party,' Kodos told the squad. 'They should be here – ah! That must be them.'

There was an unfamiliar noise. It was the quiet whirr of a car's electric motors. Alaster blinked inside his helmet. When was the last time one of them had been on the streets of Albatross? He wondered who would still have a charged-up battery, given how long the power had been off for.

A black sedan pulled onto the tarmac via a side-port to the concourse building. It sped over, then screeched to a holt nearby. And the mystery was solved – the doors were painted with the crest of House Sarrack.

Alaster tried not to groan.

The doors opened. A couple of servants hopped out. They were followed shortly by the Governor. Sarrack looked ill and old. He appeared to have lost some weight. There were heavy bags under his eyes. Alaster took a bleak satisfaction in the man's visible misery.

The man walked over, tiredly and uncertain.

The huddle of Minorians started booing. Someone was slow-handclapping, Alaster heard. He could see angry contempt written on their faces. One woman in particular looked blindly furious. She was carrying two small children, Alaster saw. Her husband was stood next to her. He was crying. Both of them were radiating flat hate at Sarrack's back.

Sarrack walked up to Kodos. 'Me and my servants,' he said. 'At least the ones who are left. Reporting as we were told.'

Alaster was surprised. The arrogance had gone from the man's tone. In fact, he sounded weary, defeated. Almost as if he was resigned to something.

Kodos just nodded. 'Okay. Your servants can board.'

They didn't wait. There were three of them, and they bolted straight up the Thunderhawk ramp. Their feet pounded on the ramp.

'You,' Kodos said with an acid tone, 'might want to take one last look at the people you're running from.'

Then Sarrack did something that surprised Alaster. He stood up straighter and looked Kodos straight back in the eye – as far as he could, given the difference in height. In a calm and surprisingly unaccusing tone, he said, 'It's not like you're hanging around either, Brother-Sergeant.'

Alaster boggled. Had Sarrack just stood up to a _Space Marine_? The galaxy's weakest and most spineless human being? Having the temerity to answer back? It was breathtaking!

It seemed Kodos was shocked too. He actually rocked back on his heels. He was about to say something, but never got the chance. Sarrack turned around and walked over to the crowd of haggard people.

'What is he doing?' Nasty asked, sounding baffled. The wind moaned over the thermocrete around them. Alaster risked another look at the blossoming disk in the sky. The ragged wound left in its side by the Naval collision had rotated into view.

Sarrack walked over to the woman and the man, with the children. Alaster stared. He was talking to them. But something was different about his posture. He was stood with his back straight. The slouched, hunchedness he'd always had before was gone. Something strange was going on. Alaster could feel it, like the electric sensation just before a thunderstorm.

Sarrack said something. The woman nodded. Suddenly her face was radiant, not enraged. He held out his hands. She handed him the squirming children. He was holding both of them, awkwardly. Someone else in the crowd pushed forward, with a baby. Sarrack suddenly had three children balanced awkwardly in his arms.

Alaster realised they were all the children in the group.

Sarrack walked back.

Kodos's helmet turned toward him. 'It's a noble gesture,' he said, 'but we can't take them as well. The ship's at maximum load. Look, if you want them to have a quick death-'

Sarrack shook his head. 'No, Brother-Sergeant. You don't understand. You'll still only be at maximum load with these three. They weigh slightly less than this fat, tired man. And this fat, tired man isn't going anywhere.'

His voice was steady and there was no fear in his eyes. Rather there seemed to be a glowing relief, almost a strange sort of joy. The weird feeling in Alaster's gut intensified. What was this?

Kodos too seemed surprised. 'You're – you're not leaving?' he asked.

Sarrack shook his head. 'My family have gone already. I'm no loss. Just another failure of a Governor. A man too weak for the office that heredity deposited on me. Take these children instead. I've proved what I'm made of, and it's dross. They might still amount to something, though.'

Kodos was silent for a moment, then he said, 'Well, I won't shame you by asking you again, your Lordship. And I have to say, I don't know how this is possible, but it seems that I've misjudged you.'

Sarrack shrugged. 'This planet was granted to me by the God-Emperor. It's my place to die here. I see that now. And if it can spare these children, then maybe some good can still come of my useless, spineless life.'

Kodos glanced at his marines. 'Take the kids,' he said. 'Get them onboard.'

The squad rushed to comply.

Kodos and Sarrack were there for a moment more. A voice shouted from the Thunderhawk, 'TWO MINUTES!'

'Well,' Kodos said to Sarrack, 'I suppose this is it.' He still sounded slightly confused.

Sarrack was frowning slightly. 'One moment, Brother-Sergeant.'

'For what?' Kodos asked him.

Sarrack looked around, surveying his fading demesne. The wind ruffled his hair. 'It's strange,' he said. 'I'd never have thought it, but there's something oddly liberating about being soon to die. I don't have to worry about responsibility any more. Least of all the ones I was never strong enough to meet.' He shook his head. 'That's what I should have done, as soon as I was crowned. Convened the Estates, and dumped the government onto them. If the Commonality want it, let them have it! Some men are not meant to be kings, and sadly for me, I'm one of them.'

He paused, frowning. 'I don't have to worry about power now. Either mine, or that anyone had over me.' He looked up at the descending Nid ship. 'In this last hour, I can finally speak freely, for there's nothing they can do to me.'

'They? Who are they?' Kodos asked, sounding puzzled.

Sarrack looked back. 'You have enemies, Brother-Sergeant. You and your Chapter.'

'I know,' Kodos said. 'I spend most of my days plasma-bolting them. Xenos and heretics alike.'

Sarrack shook his head, the odd clarity still in his eyes. 'Oh no, you don't know, Brother-Sergeant. These enemies are neither xeno nor heretic. Indeed, I'm sure they believe themselves to be the doyennes of loyalty. Probably they believe they are the ones to take the hard choices, force the difficult sacrifices that they believe are necessary.'

'I'm not following,' Kodos said.

'Enemies,' Sarrack repeated, 'in the highest of places. How far it goes, I don't know. Perhaps all the way to the council-chambers of Terra herself, although I'm unsure of that. But certainly across the Sector, and probably a part of the Segmentum. They've seen your methods, and they don't like them. They think you and your brothers are soft. Too restrained, too duty-bound. They despise your homeworld. They think it's a weak, luxurious place. Libertine and wealthy, unfit for the mighty Astartes. They think the warriors it produces must be soft too. You're not brutal, the way some Chapters are – and these people see that as the proof of their thesis.'

'Who?' Kodos demanded, hand on his pistol. 'Who speaks this slander?'

'Oh, they never spoke to me directly,' Sarrack said. 'They're too subtle for that. But messages here and there, little signals. Odd remarks at diplomatic events. Untraceable phone calls, late at night, straight through the palace switchboard. I should have told you it was happening, of course. That I can see now.' He shrugged. 'I was weak, and they frightened me into silence. They wanted you to fail here, Brother-Sergeant. They wanted this planet lost – a blow your chapter would never recover from. A terminal smear on your prestige.' He looked up, shading his eyes. 'Only it seems the Navy and the Bugs accidentally scuppered their scheme. Minoris will burn, but the fire will consume it. There will be no glut of biomass for Hive Fleet Fafnir, and its guiding intelligence will die here. The dregs will fight on, I'm sure, but at this point they've lost.'

'This sounds fantastical,' Kodos said.

'Oh but it's not!' Sarrack replied hotly. 'Not at all! Consider Captain Octavianus. Remember his mindless hostility? Was that really typical of the noble Ultramarines? Of course not. They'd got to him as well. Incidents twisted, a little lie here and there and you can make anyone look ugly. Trust me – my Current Affairs Ministry used to do it all the time. Propaganda is a great tool. The image of the Storm Ravens that they would have suggested to Brother-Captain Octavianus – well, he never told me, but I doubt it was flattering. And of course there was the pre-existing rivalry with the Ultras, a little bit of tension for them to twist and magnify. And then there were the Losers – did you wonder where all their guns had come from? Someone was gun-running to them, early in the war. They blackmailed me into looking the other way.'

Kodos was silent for a moment.

'ONE MINUTE!' The voice shouted.

Kodos said, 'This is bizarre.'

'Or consider the hostility on Majoris, the sudden hatred for their weakened neighbour. Sure, there've always been issues and disagreements, but there was never black blood between our worlds. No, that was stoked, carefully fed and encouraged. Someone there was whipping the nationalism up, hoping to complicate the evacuation. Make it fail, and fail messily. A bloody and miserable humiliation, inflicted over millions of innocent bodies.'

'That would be a monstrous act,' Kodos said. 'An act of treason, if there ever was one!'

'Ah, but the guardians of the Emperor's peace consider themselves too pure for treason. If they do it, it must be lawful by definition! But also consider Inquisitor Sharrow. A person who was on the panel that legalised the Originists. A cult who've infested your homeworld – yes, I know about that! Do you really think her presence here was coincidence? They picked someone they reckoned you'd have a grudge against, someone you couldn't work with. They were trying to make you fail!'

'Well, that didn't work,' Kodos noted.

Sarrack nodded. 'No, it didn't. But there's more. The Originist saboteur, at your outpost in the Delta. How do you think he got into the army? They do background checks, for any hint of heresy or abhumanity. How did he get past those? Someone bent the rules for him. He might not have known it was happening, but someone did.

'Brother-Sergeant, you are being worked against. They will make their move soon, make no mistake about it. They'll have to – what has happened here will force their hand. They'll have to move now, while your forces are still divided and scattered. If I can ask you to do one thing for me – warn them!'

Kodos was silent for a moment, then he nodded. 'I'll pass on your message. Whether anyone will believe it or not -?' He shrugged.

Sarrack nodded. 'That's the most I can ask.' With that, he turned and walked back into the crowd.

Kodos watched him go for a troubled moment, then he turned and walked into the Thunderhawk. The ramp closed after him. Shortly after, the Thunderhawk rose into the sky.

The former Governor and the people had withdrawn to a safe distance. They watched the spaceplane vanish beyind the clouds. Then, Sarrack went to the abandoned car. He returned with a few bottles of wine, stowed in the boot, and several plastic cups. The bottles were opened, cups filled, and the group of people stood there, just talking quietly while they waited for the end. They talked about ordinary human things, their lives, homes and former hopes. Oddly enough, the atmosphere was not entirely hopeless. There was even a little laughter. For the first time in his life, Sarrack had the confidence that he had done the right thing. Some of that must have rubbed off on the people around him. If there was truly such a thing as the Emperor's grace, he thought, this is what it must feel like.

It was a surprisingly civilised way for their world to end.


	52. Chapter 52 Gravity's Black Miracle

Through the cold sky, it fell.

It was no longer remotely spherical. Its surface quivered and rippled. Tremors were shaking its insides. It was close to the planet now. Minoris was a blue-white wall, filling half of its sky. This close, the planet was raising a tide inside the vast alien's body. The Tyranid mothership was in agony, being twisted and stretched. Its huge body had distended into a contorted, wrinkled ellipse. It was meant to glide through the silent void between galaxies, where space was almost flat. It wasn't meant to travel this close to planets or stars, where the metric was bent by their enormous masses. It should be gently circulating in a safe orbit, millions of miles out.

There was nothing safe about its current situation. It was sliding down toward its death, agonising mile by agonising mile. It knew what was happening, and it was powerless to arrest its fall.

Below, there was a dark patch against the blue-white of the planet. A small black shadow, keeping pace with the intruder. Although still little, that shadow was growing. Anyone beneath it would find their eyes drawn to the heavens, filled with fear as a false eclipse darkened the suns. They would know, in that moment of night, that the end was only a short time away.

The first wisps of atmosphere were just brushing against the Nid ship.

Up in orbit, thousands of horrified eyes were glued to monitors. Hundreds of the less cautious were watching through portholes. A handful of the most adventurously ill-advised had actually put on spacesuits and gone onto the outsides of their ships, to watch the collision as close as they could.

Further afield, on the crowded sister-planet of Majoris, things were no less tense. The view from Majoris was slightly behind the time – the planets were separated widely enough for an appreciable light-speed delay. The worried billions of Majorians were watching the situation as it had been a couple of seconds ago. The Corporation had ordered all flights grounded, rightly fearing the effects of a blinding flash-over on aircraft pilots. There was also an advisory notice to stay indoors during the impact, although millions of people were flouting it.

The dregs of air streamed up, over the alien's battered surface. The breath of air grew to a whisper. The whisper grew to a shout and then to a howl. A shock of displaced gas was forming under the alien's descending bow. As the intruder rammed through the thickening air, gas molecules were abruptly and rudely compressed. Pressures and temperatures soared. A cherry-red plasma sheath blossomed into light beneath the alien, like a cross between an aurora and an upturned bowl. The blazing plasma-sheath was many miles across and expanding with every passing microsecond.

Bare instants remained now.

The Tech-priests had plied their cogitators with incense and special vocational hymns. Offerings to the great Omissiah had been laid at the bases of oil-anointed analytical engines. Key boards had been caressed, the sacred rites of data entry undertaken with reverent care. The Machine Spirits had been coaxed with velocities and masses and angles of approach. Rotation and solar tides had been considered. Angular momentum had been conserved. The wisdom of the Omnissiah had been propitiated through the Algebraic Rites and the Mysteries of Calculus.

The analytical engines had accepted these offerings, and their processors had considered the data offered to them. Numbers were crunched and vectors had been plotted. Finally, results had been returned. The Tech-Priests had identified a point somewhat out to sea from the Hydra Delta as the technical point of impact. Of course, the situation was confused somewhat. The Tyranid mothership was an extended object – point-mass approximations were not entirely valid, and had to be treated with some caution, they warned. A more rigorous analysis would inevitably take longer, however, and time had been at a critical shortage in the last few days. Within the private conclaves of the Machine-Adepts, there was even a debate about whether a forecast should even be issues. Better to seem silent and mysterious, some argued, then to be publicly embarrassed with an erroneous prediction.

As it happened, they needn't have feared for their credibility. Their impact point was technically off, true, but by less than three hundred metres. Considering that the impactor was several dozen kilometres wide, this was a trivial deviation.

To anyone on the surface, near the impact point, the descent of the mothership would have been a surreal, if brief, experience. There was a great peculiarity about the object's descent. It was travelling far faster than the local speed of sound. Put simply, it outpaced the noise of its own arrival. Its descent was entirely silent! The shockwave would have propagated down in the wake of the mothership itself.

For a few moments, before impact, things became strange near the Hydra Delta. Night fell as the suns were blocked out, but it was a ruddy night, backlit by the fiery plasma-sheath underneath the impactor. Then anyone present on the ground would have felt a remarkable sense of lightness – the gigantic Tyranid packed in a lot of mass, and it was nearby. It was close enough that its gravity was somewhat counter-acting Minoris's own pull.

Then, an instant later, there was the briefest moment of all. The bottom of the Nid ship touched the face of the sea. It was only the briefest of contacts – then the enormous force of the impact flash-boiled the water. The Nid ship punched through to the seabed, barely even noticing the contact.

From a distance of a few miles, witnesses would have seen the unbelievable. They would have seen the sky filled with a vast, organic-looking teardrop, a teardrop that was just touching the edge of their world. They would have seen two worlds meeting.

And then the shockwave propagated down to sealevel.

An instant later, anyone still watching would have died. The shockwave was composed of superheated plasma, the normal matter of the air torn apart by the vast force of the collision. It was travelling many times faster than sound. It was at a temperature of thousands of degrees - so hot it glowed blue, like the inside of a neon lamp. At the speed it travelled, it may as well have been solid. Trees, grass, buildings, people and mountains were torn apart with equal ease.

All of these events occurred in less than a tenth of a second.

The bottom of the Nid ship crashed into the continental bedrock underneath. But the top of it was still above most of the atmosphere! Encountering solid rock, the bottom began to slow. But the top was travelling as fast as ever. Like a sledgehammer, the Nid ship hammered into itself.

Its interior was compressed and squeezed. Being rammed together at such speed, the molecules within it were driven to a fiery extreme of friction. The temperature rocketed.

Roasted and squashed from within, the gigantic Tyranid died.

As it did, it released a final death-scream. A deafening roar of psychic energy, ripping through the Warp like the shockwave was ripping through the atmosphere below. Everywhere across the system, the psychically-inclined were flooded with a wave of agony. People staggered and clutched at their heads or fainted or screamed or, in several thousand particularly sensitive cases, fell to the ground dead as haemorrhages ripped through their overwhelmed brains. This happened everywhere, across the fleet and across Majoris. Startled crewmates and relatives alike were torn from watching the frenzied destruction of the neighbouring world as friends and relatives gasped in sudden pain.

Deep in the medical bay of the _Angeren's Wrath_, Patreus jerked bolt-upright and screamed, a bone-chillingly bleak howl of emptiness and despair. Then he collapsed back into drug-induced sedation. A splash of blood dribbled out from his nose. As it happened, his bizarre behaviour was barely noted – the medical orderlies were inured to Space Marines behaving strangely, and anyway, they were suddenly inundated with people who had collapsed from across the ship. The Navigtaors and the Astropaths in particular needed urgent medical care - their greater sensitiveties had left them wide open to the appalling force of the death-scream. With all of that going on, no-one had time to worry about a single Space Marine doing something odd.

But even as these events occurred, the apocalypse rolled on below on Minoris.

The Nid ship was gone now. In its place was a ferociously-heated ball of plasma. Its interior had achieved the sorts of temperatures and pressures more normally associated with the deep interiors of stars. And it was still moving forward, crashing into the upper mantle.

But the density of the material around it was rising rapidly. Suddenly, it was forced to a holt. For just an instant, the gigantic bolt hovered there. But the deceleration had heated it even further. It had no choice now.

It exploded.

The flashover came not even one full second after the impact had begun. An impossible light glared out of the side of Minoris. It bloomed to a blinding flare, so hot it was actually momentarily tinged violet.

Of the spectators still watching, many of them briefly discovered their folly. Those souls foolish enough to watch this event from outside the shielded hulls of the ships died immediately. The flashover had spiked up into the hard X-rays – spacesuits offered scant protection against that sort of energy. In some cases, a few low-orbit spectators were actually vaporised. Those watching from behind windows survived. However, many of them developed burns and more than a small number were blinded. Those watching on screens stared in consternation as the screens flared and died into static, as detectors and cameras were melted and blinded.

On Majoris, the people outdoors also had a nasty surprise.

The flashover luminosity peaked at several percent the output of the two suns. This several percent, however, was less than a million kilometres from Majoris, whereas the suns were hundreds of millions of kilometres away. Momentarily, the heat from the flashover was incredible.

All across Majoris, exposed trees and bushes smouldered. Papers and fallen branches burst into flame. Wildfires erupted everywhere where there was still something wild to burn. And screaming, burned people staggered everywhere, clutching at their damaged faces and eyes, even as fires tore through their surroundings. Up above them in the sky, the disk of Minoris was lost behind the temporary glare of a new sun. It cast a harsh and uncompromising white light over the land below.

The ferocious heat dulled quickly. The explosion threw up debris with it, and as the plume rose it cooled. The violet-white heat dulled to blue and then yellow and then a sooty orange-red. The actinic light faded to a sooty, unstable luminance and with it the nightmarish surge of heat receded. The flashover had ended. The next few days were due to be some of the busiest the emergency services of Majoris had ever faced, as they struggled to put out fires everywhere in the Minoris-facing hemisphere.

But for now, on Minoris, the destruction rolled on.

A pressure wave was rolling out through the planet's mantle. It expanded in a series of concentric rings, like ripples on a pond. These ripples were of magma, not water, and they were miles high. As they spread the crust buckled, cracked and broke. The land was torn up by vast quakes. Trees buildings and people were thrown down alike. Plumes of lava, too vast to be called volcanoes, surged out of the cracks in the shattered crust.

Along with the breaking of the crust came the atmospheric shockwave. With it came extreme temperatures, hot enough to sear flesh from bone and roast a body in its own juices. The awful force of that death-wind could crush bones and tear limbs away. Its deafening scream-howl would destroy any eardrums exposed to it.

The two waves rippled out over the surface of the planet. As they spread the land burned, the bedrock cracked and the seas boiled. Behind them they left a lifeless chaos of clinker and lava, scorched bergs of rock backlit by the ruddy glow of rivers and lakes of lava. Nothing lived there, not even microbes. The heat of the world's end had scoured the land clean, clean of life. All that was left was the nightmarish, sterile perfection of exposed geology.

The two shock fronts moved across the planet. They became widest as they passed around the planet's middle. But then the surface of the sphere curved back in under them. They were driven inwards, being focused by geometry. The ripples began to converge. As more and more energy was concentrated into a smaller and smaller space, the ripples grew. The lava-waves were forced a dozen miles into the sky.

Then, finally, they reached the point exactly on the other side of the planet to the impact-point. The ripples collided and merged. As they did they were driven upwards.

A vast fountain of lava speared into the sky, hundreds of miles high. It sprayed a plume of debris into the space above the planet. With it, most of the atmosphere was ejected, savagely ripped away from the surface below. The fountain sprayed up so high and fast that much of it was boosted into orbit.

An arc of debris began to fan out around Minoris. In time, the planet would have a ring system. Maybe it would even form a few little moonlets, a distant echo of the long-gone formation of the planet itself.

As the last secondary ripples died down on the broken surface below, a changed world was left behind. The planet was no longer blue and white. Its colours now were red and black and brown, with unsteady flickers of orange here and there. Its surface was cracked and broken, marked with dark plains of jagged rock and searing reddish streaks and whorls of lava. And, on one side, a vast reddish wound glared out like a bloodied eye – the impact sight, a monumental crater hundreds of miles wide.

No trace remained of the Hydra. There was no hint of Albatross, or any of the other cities. Nothing lived, moved or breathed on the wreck that was Minoris. No human, no plant, no vegetable, not even any Tyranid survived anywhere on its scorched surface.

An entire civilisation had been destroyed. All of its labours, its works and its history were now for naught. More than a quarter of a billion human lives had been snuffed out. All that remained was ash and clinker.

It was the end of a world.


	53. Chapter 53 A Violent Interlude

'I've been doing some final tests,' Dr Leora was saying. 'I'm reasonably happy with the new results. I think we've solved the enzyme problem.'

'Good,' Phelonas said. There was a quiet _snick_ as he ran the whetstone along the edge of the blade. Unhurried, he put the whetstone aside, onto the shelf next to him. He lifted the blade up and turned it over. The runes gleamed in the light. The blade was freshly cleaned. There was a scent of oil and cloves in the air. The dark metal seemed somehow flat and deep at the same time, as if the blade was made of frozen shadows. Light glinted along its edge. 'It wouldn't be any good if our antagonist died _en route_, would it?'

'No,' she agreed. 'That would be a waste of effort. I guess it's the problem with proteins generally, really. They're such useful things, but they're so annoyingly temperature-sensitive!'

'And we can't guarantee good ventilation in the back of a van,' Phelonas agreed.

They were in the loft. It had the same tired furniture as before. The rug and the bed were still there. The door to the stairs was closed, to prevent any risk of eavesdropping. The beams of the roof rose above them, merging together with triangular tidiness. Above them was the roof itself. It was raining heavily outside. The downpour was drumming onto the slates. It was loud in the space below. In one corner of the loft, a bucket was catching some water, entering through a leak in the slates above.

'How is the politics going?' Leora asked.

'I take it you don't read the morning papers?' Phelonas said.

'Not if I can avoid it. Too many paeans to the wondrous Imperium. I do like to keep my breakfast down, you know.'

Phelonas snorted. He turned his blade over to inspect the other side. The metal rasped against his gauntlets. The silver edging on them also caught the light. 'That's a point. It can be rather nauseating, can't it?' He shrugged. 'Well, for the record, it's going well. Faithful Road has collapsed into internal squabbling. More "road" than "faithful" at the moment, I think! The liberal faction are trying to topple Yelessa's orthodoxists. They've got plenty of ammunition – the scandals keep rolling out from the Potassium Commission. And Shining Path are stoking the tension for all it's worth. What a miserable bunch of opportunists! And then we have our helpful little puppets, Traditional Front! They're the best sort of puppet of all, the unwitting sort! So there's nothing resembling a functioning government at the moment. All the better for our purposes.'

'Stupidity is its own reward?' Leora suggested.

Phelonas nodded. 'Quite. And of course the popular mood is angry. There was a good quote in yesterday's _Eagle_. "The point about a hung Assembly is that the public would like to hang the Assembly!" Speak for itself, really.' He lifted the sword up, looking closer at something. Leora caught a glimpse of a reflection of his horned helmet on the blade. Tutting, Phelonas rubbed off a speck of dirt. He then dug out his sword-cloth, and dabbed at that part of the blade.

Leora watched with a mixture of fascination and nervousness. 'You look after that thing, don't you?' she observed.

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'I would be rather foolish not to, wouldn't I? Also, there is-'

Then he froze.

He was stood there, still as a bone, with the sword held out in front of him in one hand and the cleaning cloth in the other. A gust of wind rattled the slates above, shaking the bulb that was hung from the ceiling. Phelonas's shadow on the wall behind, stark and black, shook with the light.

He was silent for a moment.

Behind them, a big drop of rain plopped into the bucket. Leora twitched in surprise.

'What – what is it?' Leora asked. She was used to the Chaos Marine's sudden moods and mercurial tempers, but that didn't mean she was inured to them. When she was around him, she always kept a close eye on Phelonas's behaviour, watching out for any obvious psychotic-trigger warning-signs. Most of the time, he was composed, almost icily so. But every now and then, some odd bit of news would provoke a storm of rage.

Leora had never been the target of that storm, a fact which she suspected was proven by her continued life.

Phelonas shook his head, moving again. 'I felt something – something in the Warp!' Then he paused again. The rain drummed on the slat above them. 'No. It's real.' Then he snarled. 'We need an Originist!'

Leora blinked. 'An Originist?' What? What did he want an Originist for? 'Any, uh, particular one?'

'Doesn't matter! A stupid one! An expendable one!'

Leora knew better than to argue. A worried feeling in her stomach, she watched as Phelonas sprinted to the door. The floor boards creaked as his feet pounded on them. She was somewhat impressed. In spite of his considerable size, he was fast.

Phelonas grabbed the door and wrenched it open. It creaked in protest.

He showed no sign of noticing it. Leora saw his skull-decorated backpack vanish around the door frame. She heard the creaking of feet on the stairs. Not sure what was going on, she followed him. Why had the Chaos Marine suddenly broken cover? Had he taken leave of his senses?

She followed him down the stairs.

Phelonas was on the landing. No-one else was there. His helmet turned, the silvered tips of the horns gleaming in the weak light. His eyelenses fixed on one of the doors. Phelonas walked over. Leora was stood behind him, wondering what he was about to do.

Phelonas grabbed the door handle and wrenched it. With a groan of unoiled hinges, the door scraped open. Phelonas stepped through.

The room behind was brighter. Grey cloudlight was seeping in through a dirty glass window. It overlooked the garden beyond, and the row of houses behind that. Fat raindrops were falling down and a blurry curtain of water was splashing off the outside of the window. Leora breathed a small sigh of relief. Whatever this was about, at least none of the neighbours would be able to see in!

'Who are-?'

A new voice spoke. Leora looked over. There was an old bedstand next to the window, with an old mattress. A ragged brown blanket hung over it. A young Originist was sat on the bed, eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at Phelonas.

'Oh skak,' Leora said. 'He can _see_ you!'

'I know, he's meant to,' Phelonas growled. 'Now make yourself useful and shut the door!'

Leora took the handle and tugged. The door didn't want to move. She gripped the handle harder. With a grunt, she pulled the door shut. It creaked and groaned. The lock clicked into place with a protesting _snick_.

Rain drummed against the window.

Phelonas's sword was out. Leora stared. The runes were glowing! They were glowing with a shifting red light, like a fire seen in the distance. A sharp, actinic scent filled the air. She frowned. Now why had she thought it was an 'actinic' scent? Then she knew – she'd last smelt it near one of the ultraviolet lamps they had in the hospital. They used them to sterilise surgical instruments, by bathing them in powerful, cytosine-wreaking beams of radiation. When they were on, as well as glaring an ugly, actinic violet, they generated that smell. Ozone – that was it! Phelonas's sword was stinking of ozone!

Nervously, Leora wondered if it was giving off radiation too. She'd rule nothing out when that thing was about. She glanced nervously at Phelonas. He was between her and the blade.

Then she noticed something else that was incredibly weird.

The Chaos Marine had _turned his back_ on her.

A gust of wind slammed a fresh torrent of rain against the window. The panes rattled. The frame creaked.

The Originist – really just a boy; his face was a mass of freckles – was staring fearfully at the Chaos Marine. Phelonas was walking slowly toward him, full of cold intention. The kid moved back on the bed, the springs creaking under him. His back was against the wall. 'Who – who are you?' the kid squeaked.

'Me? I'm bad news,' Phelonas told him.

The Chaos Marine towered over the unfortunate Originist. The ancient traitor's shadow fell across the chosen victim's confused and terrified form. Phelonas's armour was half dark blue and silver edgings and half silhouetted against the cloudlight. Skull-decorations and spikes gleamed in the light.

'What are you doing?' Leora asked.

'We need intelligence,' Phelonas growled.

'And you're asking an Originist?' Despite the freakishness of this tableaux, Leora still found some energy for a weak burst of sarcasm.

'I ask for nothing,' Phelonas said. 'I don't need to. What I need, I take!'

The sword flashed blackly down.

The Originist screamed. Leora heard the crunch of shattered ribs and an organic, wet ripping noise – the sound of muscle and fat and skin being torn. She turned her head to look away.

The scream abruptly dropped into a gurgle and fell silent. The smell of ozone was joined by the smell of blood and a blossoming scent of excrement. The unmistakeable aroma of human innards, Leora knew. She worked shifts in the hospital's emergency room – she knew that smell, she knew it well.

Having some idea what she'd see, she looked back.

Most of the grizzly scene was blocked by Phelonas himself. He'd turned round. His imposing form hid most of the corpse. Still, she could see enough. Behind the bed the paint was marked where a plume of arterial blood had squirted right up the wall. The Originist was lying back, stunned eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. His mouth kept weakly opening and closing. A pool of blood was spreading on the floor by the bed. And she could just see the edge of an enormous gash, open from near his shoulder.

She couldn't see everything, but she could see enough to know that the wound was mortal. He would be dead within minutes at the most.

Phelonas was holding the daemonic blade out in front of him. It was sodden with blood, but less of it was dripping off than Leora would have expected. Instead, as the droplets dribbled down, they seemed to sink into the runes. The runes were blazing. They were actually brighter than the light from the window now! Thinking quickly, Leora tugged the tatty curtains back into place. Best that the neighbours didn't see this!

She squinted into the bloody rune-light.

Phelonas moved his other hand above the blade, fingers moving in a complicated but strangely-elegant gesture. As the hand passed toward the tip of the blade, he said something. Leora didn't quite catch the word – or Word, as the case may be – but whatever it was, it made a shiver pass up her spine. She felt like someone was rubbing ice-cubes up her back. It was almost electrical.

Then the laws of nature were rudely interrupted.

The blood on the blade caught fire. It was on fire! It was _burning_!

Leora stared as a bluish sheet of flame crackled up from the blade. Its light was a sharp counterpoint to the glare of the runes. 'What-?' she asked.

'Just a little bit of sorcery,' Phelonas told her. 'We don't have long – this Word uses the gap between life and death. When the sacrifice lies dying from a mortal wound. As the energies stream into the Warp – there's a lot of them! Think of it like a power surge. Or a flood. We're just diverting a bit of it, for a few moments.'

'What – why?' Leora asked. The flames were crackling. Rain was still hammering at the window, sluicing down the pains, hidden behind the moth-eaten curtains.

'Look,' Phelonas said.

Like a door silently swinging open, the blue flame parted. It revealed the blackness of space. Leora saw stars, sharp, hard, tiny points – the way you see them above an atmosphere, no the weakened, smudged, flickering things you see from planets. Then suddenly she blinked as two planets swam into view. One of them looked much smaller then the other. The smaller planet was belted at its middle by a fat mass of grey-white cloud, with land and sea only visible near the poles. Bright points of light punctuated its darkside. The closer planet was a fat, misty blue-white disk. Leora could partly make out clouds and seas, but there seemed to be a thick haze everywhere, as if there was a lot of dust in the sky for some reason.

'Behold the Riothria planetary binary,' Phelonas told her. 'Twin planets, with twin suns. The universe can be so nauseatingly twee sometimes! But wait, what's this?'

Something glided into view. It was a sort of lumpy potato shape, greyish with purplish-pink veins bulging across it. It looked alive, except that half of it was ragged, burnt and torn and the other half had impact craters here and there! Craters! 'What is that?' Leora breathed.

'Interesting. Some sort of Tyranid organism, I think,' Phelonas said. 'And it looks like it's big and near the planet. See – it's casting a shadow on Minoris!'

It was indeed. A dark spot was moving over the clouds.

'It's falling in!' Leora breathed.

She and Phelonas watched in silence as the mothership of Hive Fleet Fafnir fell out of the Minorian sky. They watched the impact. They were dazzled by the flashover. They watched the crust rupture. They watched the hypersonic shockwave rip the planet's atmosphere off. They watched the seas boil and the land die.

Then the flame flickered and subsided. It hissed as it died out. The reddish light of the runes guttered and faded. Moments later they were quiescent again.

'Show's over,' Phelonas said. 'The sacrifice has passed on. There is no more power to channel.'

'What was that?' Leora asked. She felt a dark kind of awe. Now that was power!

'What we just saw? The end of a world.' Phelonas dug the cloth out of his belt-pouch. He set to cleaning the last, dry stains from the blade. 'It seems events haven't proceeded as I expected. I knew this Inquisitor might be planning an Exterminatus.'

'Was that it?'

'No, I don't think so. That looked like an accident. And anyway, it's happened early! The Exterminatus should still be weeks away.'

'That's one hell of an accident,' Leora breathed.

'Quite. A planet-wrecking cock-up.'

'Were – were we watching that, you know, live?'

'Not quite. That was sort of a replay. Drawn from the psychic bowl-voidings of the people in the system, if you will. But it's a long way away. That's why it needed a power boost for me to reach out to it.' He waved the hand with the cloth at the corpse. It was a negligent wave, as if merely to acknowledge a minor and unimportant side-act in life's play. 'What I felt earlier was – well, it's hard to say. You see, the Warp conveys emotion, sensation, raw ideas. It's hard to quantify what you feel, hard to enumerate or describe. I can't say that I saw anything, or felt anything, or smelt anything, or heard anything – none of those senses were involved. But if I had to describe what it was like…' He shrugged. 'Well, can you imagine what _the death of a great beast_ might feel like?'

She shook her head.

'Well that's what I felt,' he said. 'I felt the death-cry of the Tyranid leviathan.'

'Was that – the thing we saw? The thing that hit the planet?'

Phelonas nodded. 'Yes, so I believe. Of course, at this distance the cry wasn't that strong, but it was enough to get my attention. I had to act fast – hence the unsubtle intervention here.'

'If it was faint – does anyone else know?'

'Oh, assuredly. If no-one else, the Astropaths will feel it too. And the closer they are, the stronger they'll feel it. And anyway, messages will start arriving from Riothria now.'

'But – I thought you said it was isolated?'

'The main telepathic node is gone,' Phelonas said. 'So is most of the Tyranid biomass. The Warp isn't having bandwidth issues anymore. The Shadow will be fading away, even as we speak. Like mist under the morning sun.'

'Does this mean the war is over?' she asked.

'As good as,' Phelonas agreed. 'The Imperium should rejoice – for them, this is the best result! They needed an Exterminatus, their strategy was guaranteed to fail without it. And now they've got one, without a single missile fired! And it's taken away the co-ordinating intelligence for the Tyranids, too. The surviving creatures will start to revert to feral beasts. Now it's just picking them off.' With angry sarcasm he added, 'Score one for the gilded corpse's slaves. They've won this round, damn them!'

'So what does this mean for us?'

'It means,' Phelonas said, 'that we're going to have to move the schedule forward. The Ravens are coming home. With much of their forces intact, and potentially, their morale higher than I'd hoped. And sooner than I'd hoped.'

'But – the Originists. Are they ready?'

'No, of course not. They're useless. They're hardly ready for anything. But they'll have to do. Or…' Phelonas stopped, as if thinking.

'Or what?'

'Or maybe there is a little extra something I can arrange.'

'Like what?' she asked.

'Like a bit more assistance for our rampaging fanatical hordes,' he said. 'It will alert the Space Marines to the real nature of what they're facing – but they'd find out anyway, at some point. And this way, maybe we can crack the Ravenholme open, a bit faster.'

'If you don't mind me asking,' Leora said, 'why can't you just do that vanishing trick of yours and get us in that way?'

Phelonas sighed. 'Doctor Leora, making myself subtle is a complicated business, and it has some fearsome drawbacks. I got the idea studying dark matter, and neutrinos. It stops my body interacting with matter – but it stops my body interacting with matter! When I make myself subtle, I have to immediately jump – or I would sink straight through the floor, maybe even to the core of the planet.'

'Oh,' she said.

'And your legs aren't as strong as mine – no offence, but it's true. You couldn't make the jumps that would be needed. Plus you don't have power armour – and you saw the mess that was the Hierarch. When you don't feel matter, that includes the pressure of the air around us. Explosive decompression isn't pretty.'

Leora nodded, reluctantly.

'And,' Phelonas said, 'I need you alive to deploy the antagonist into the geneseed system.'

'So,' she said, 'point taken there. But what is the revised plan? Are we going ahead with the bogus coup?'

Phelonas nodded. 'Oh yes. Janessa will send word to her minions shortly. The next time the Assembly votes – on anything! – Yelessa's career will be ended. Properly, this time.'

'Normally the Leader of the Opposition would take over.'

'Except this time, Traditional Front will destabilise them too. When that happens – a double no-confidence vote - it precipitates an election, normally. Only I've studied the law. The same Assembly has to appoint a Provisional Ministry, to operate the government in the run-up to the early election. If the Assembly can't manage to appoint the Ministry, then no government exists. And there's bad blood between the two main parties. They hate each other now – I've made sure of that! The crisis on Gamma, the potassium scandal, the Traditional Front defection, the economy – the news is all black! And they all think the other side is at fault.'

She nodded. 'I see it. So Faithful Road and Shining Path are guaranteed to vote against everything the other side proposes, regardless of merit. And Traditional Front can step in at any point and prevent any proposal from being enacted. Only there's no existing First Minister to declare a state of emergency. So we have absolute paralysis at the planetary level.'

'Exactly,' Phelonas said. 'The Compact is a rotten document! Badly-written, badly-drafted, full of loopholes! But of course it's the closest excuse to an actual constitution that Imperial citizens can manage. They make it so easy for me – it's like they want me to win!'

'You make it sound like the Compact is the longest suicide note in history,' Leora said.

'It might as well be,' Phelonas agreed. 'Unbalanced, poorly-thought-through, self-delusional, riddled with propaganda and blatant errors – in a way, it's just like the Imperium itself!'

'So we can paralyse the government,' Leora said. 'Okay, I like that. But what next?'

'The bogus coup attempt,' Phelonas said. 'While the Assembly squabbles, we send truckloads of armed Originists out. I've been through the numbers. We've got enough idiot-fanatics to destabilise four cities. I've marked out the Capital, Creekside and two of the provincial capitals. The trucks go out. And they carpet-bag the media broadcasters. They bag the generatoria. They bag the waterworks. The media, the electricity and the water supply. Also the Assembly Hall in the Capital. This way it does look like an old-school _coup d'etat_. We have some convenient mouthpiece go out on the nets and broadcast some sort of inflammatory statement. It doesn't really matter what – just cause some more panic!'

'And while all that's happening, we're sending the rest of the idiots off to the Ravenholme,' Leora said. 'Where they'll all get ripped to pieces on its guns.'

'Yes, but it depends how quickly,' Phelonas said. 'And I've got a plan to crack open those defences a little more.'

'How?' she asked.

He gestured at the body on the bed. 'With a few more sacrifices – why, with a few more sacrifices, you can do anything. Shall we just say that I can bring the forces of Chaos to Delta?'

'I see,' Leora said, looking at the streak of blood that ran up the wall.

Behind the curtains, the rain rattled against the window.

'Also,' Phelonas said, 'we don't have so much time. We have to move. We have to make our move now, before the fleet returns from Riothria. Chaos must come to Delta.'


	54. Chapter 54 Follow The Money

Father Inyre was still being paid.

As his feet crunched on the gravel drive, he reflected on how weird that was. It was convenient, in a way. The Church's expenses system had paid for his train fare here, to Sothis. It hadn't even blinked at the abrupt decision of an indigent priest to travel to the greatest city of the northern end of the continent.

Sothis was an amazing city, one of the largest on Delta. It had a remarkable backdrop, snow-covered mountains behind it and the sea to the front. It was also the home of Mundale Collegium, one of the system's finest seminary colleges. It also housed the offices of the Fiscal Curia, the Originist Church's financial administration. That same financial administration that was still paying Inyre's salary. The same Curia that had also approved his train fare and his taxi ride, without a hint of demurral.

His continual pay had given Inyre an idea. It was strange but the Church seemed to have a lot of money sloshing around. It needed investigating, so he'd come here. He suspected there might be more money then could really be justified.

And now, he was stood outside the relevant building.

It didn't look like somewhere that would house a financial administration. In fact, it looked a bit like a country house, somehow translated from the isolated grandeur of some wealthy lord's estate. It had the same peaked, tiled roof as all the other Mundale buildings. More gargoyles glared down from amongst its chimneys and drainpipes. Little lead-lined windows peered out from inside stone arches and lintels. The hall was sat on a small pocket green, a circular splash of grass. Stone-paved pathways snaked back and forth from the doors. Trees were grouped around the edges. The hall was discreetly screened off from the rest of the campus. The sounds of cars and chattering students were remote here, as if leaking in from another world. In the shade of the trees, it was also noticeably cooler than elsewhere.

Inyre took a deep breath.

He walked forward. His boots scrunched on the grass. He approached the door, treading carefully up the granite steps until the shadow of the portico fell over him.

He looked down the list of names next to the various bells. And, to his surprise, there it was. FISCAL CURIA, written in black pen in a neat hand. He pushed the bell.

There was a pause, then the door clicked open.

Inyre shrugged. Time to face the music. He put a hand on the door and opened it. Moments later he found himself on his own, inside the building. The interior had a cool, fresh smell. The floor was polished interlocking tiles, reds and browns. The walls were half-panelled with timber. Above the panelling, white-plastered stonework rose in fluid arches to the vaulted ceilings above.

Inyre looked around and located a stairway. He entered and began to ascend, footsteps echoing around him.

Money. His lip curled in distaste as he thought of it. It was a debauched, diseased raffle, a glamorised rationing system. An artificial means of exchange, the lifeblood of commerce and business. The great corruptor of men and seducer of women. The strongest medicine for society's ills, but a medicine that brought a witch's brew of side-effects. It was both the reward of labour and the solicitor of corruption. It allowed both the receipt of holy tithes and the sleazy blasphemy of theft. Money was little in of itself, just little paper notes and shiny coins of common metals, and sometimes just patterns of electronic information inside of fiscal cogitators. But its material composition really didn't matter – what mattered was the belief.

It was something the Imperium couldn't live without and something that Inyre wasn't too sure that the Imperium could live with, either. The life and death of empires, written large in a descending, hissing stream of silvery coins. What mattered was the conviction of value that people ascribed to it.

Inyre sometimes wondered whether the Imperial people really believed in the Emperor. He did not, however, doubt their commitment to the golden fruits of the Mint and the dubious gifts of the Exchequer.

In a way, money was like faith. It was both everything and nothing.

A few moments later, he was at the third floor. He opened the door onto the corridor. This area felt much more institutional than the building's grand exterior. The ceilings were flat here and the floor was carpeted. The walls were painted a plain white, without wood panelling. There was a notice board on the nearest wall. A quick inspection revealed a floorplan and the legend, CURIA FISCAL – Rm. B309, amongst the list of offices.

Inyre wasn't far away now.

He walked down the corridor, feet _shush-shush_ing on the carpet.

He remembered that filthy man, Tobias – whatever had happened to him? Inyre could only assume that he was dead by now. Inyre remembered one of his grubby little schemes. That plan he'd boasted about, seemingly suggested to him by that monster Phelonas. Using Church money to buy dodgy shares in dodgy businesses on Gamma, to undermine the markets and engineer a recession. Cockamie, insane, corrupt – and freakishly, uncharacteristically, effective.

This was the weird thing. Tobias's daft scheme – it had worked! It shouldn't have done, though. True, Gamma was the poorest of the three principal worlds of the Octalian System – but even then, it was vastly more populous than the local Originist Church. There was no way that the Church's poverty-stricken faithful should have been able to even shake it, let alone topple it.

But somehow, they had.

When he noticed the oddity of his continuing pay, Inyre had done some digging. He'd gone through the back-issues of several papers. With a slate and the aid of an arithmetical spirit, he had gone to work. While dribbling candles burned and votive offerings filled the air with the scent of incense, he had coaxed the slate's little cogitator into interceding for him with the Lord of Machines. He had fed in his estimated numbers, based on the prices for stocks and bonds in various industries, and their falls during the Gamman crisis. And lo, the numbers had been revealed unto him! And they were eye-watering.

His figures estimated that the destabilisation of Gamma had cost the Church the equivalent of seventy-eight billion Octalian crowns.

A seven, an eight and then a string of zeroes. Inyre had been staggered by the volume of money that implied. The idea of one billion exceeded his grasp, let alone seventy-eight of them! He checked and re-checked his numbers, undertaking the actuarial invocations with superstitious care. But each time he got the same answer. The Church had bought nearly a hundred billion crowns' worth of dodgy shares. How this was possible, he had no idea. The total declared assets of the _entire Church_ came to a penurious forty million! And there was a small gap between forty million and the fat end of eighty _thousand _million – just a small gap!

One thing was clear: something was going on.

And now here he was, in front of the door. It was a plain, brown-painted door. It had the words FISCAL CURIA written on it in brass lettering. After the Church's _de facto_ Imperial recognition, following the Ikranos Trial, the Collegium had been talked into accepting the offices of its financial arm. Inyre had thought at the time that it had been the pious action of Emperor-fearing patriots.

Now, he wondered how much the bribes had cost.

Inside his head, Inyre was slowly groping toward what would be a painful decision. Seventy-eight billion. There had to be an explanation. Inyre suspected that he wouldn't like it, but he had to have it. He had to know. He suspected that someone out there was lying to him, and maybe had been lying for a long time. He was coming to suspect that the entire Church itself was some sort of vast fraud. Someone was using them, as a player in some unimaginable game.

He put his hand on the door and pushed. It creaked on its hinges. He stepped through.

The Fiscal Curia turned out to be a surprisingly-small office. A startled-looking woman was sat behind a desk. A battered cogitator, the latest model from eight years ago, sat next to a wonky-looking holoscreen. The colour was going, Inyre noticed. One side of the screen was distinctly greener than the other.

'Who are you?' the woman demanded.

The walls of the room were lined with filing cabinets. Behind the woman, a window looked over the campus. As ever, mountains floated ominously in the background, behind the tops of the trees outside.

Inyre stepped in and closed the door. 'I'm here from the Church,' he said. 'I'm here to look at the books.' None of those statements was technically a lie. He was _from_ the Church and he was here to look at the books. Nonetheless they were meant to create a misleading impression, that he was here officially. Inyre had sworn an oath to tell the truth, and he knew he was skating on thin metaphorical ice here. He'd had to retreat into verbal word-games to justify this, and he didn't like it.

He'd expected the woman to challenge him. Instead, she gave him a cynical and disinterested look. Then she picked up a nail-file from on her desk and started filing her nails. They were painted red, Inyre noted.

'Oh,' she said. 'Okay.'

Inyre stared. This was too easy! 'You – this is the right office?' he said. 'You do work for the Originist Church?'

She shrugged. 'This is the Fiscal Curia, yes. And I work here. I'm Larissa Shevins.' She didn't stand or offer her hand.

Inyre nodded, feeling somewhat out of his depth. 'Thank you, Miss, uh, Shevins. If I may ask, who do you report to?'

There was a phone handset sat on the desk. A single desultory votive candle, bearing the Adeptus Mechanicus logo, sat next to it. The wick was dead and cold. It didn't look like Larissa Shevins could be bothered with devotional offerings.

She waved a hand vaguely at the telephone. 'Oh I sometimes get calls from the annoying man – what's his name? Jessings, that's it!'

Hierach Akryn Jessings, 'that annoying man', had been the member of the Council of Hierarchs in charge of the day-to-day running of the Church. During the abortive purge recently he'd been arrested along with the rest of the Council except Janessa. Like the other Councillors, nothing had been heard of him since. Inyre imagined that he was probably dead by now.

'So is it just you here?' Inyre asked.

Shevins nodded, clearly not interested at all. 'Yes, just me. We had a few people doing filing and stuff too, but they all got arrested.'

'During the purge?' Inyre asked.

She shrugged. 'I guess so. I haven't seen them since.'

There was a good chance they'd been murdered in prison, Inyre suspected. The lower-leveled worshippers didn't have family connections or good lawyers to look after them, and the other inmates would doubtless be told that they were convicted heretics. The odds of them going unhurt – well, not all prison deaths got investigated. 'How did you avoid arrest?'

'Me?' Shevins looked surprised. 'Why would I be -? Oh, wait, you think I'm one of you loons, don't you? Well I'm not. I just work here. Couldn't care less about your dumb little cult.'

Inyre felt an eyebrow climb. She had an amazingly bad attitude! Then he wondered if that was why Shevins had been given this job. Someone with no curiosity and no real initiative and someone who regarded her employers with bored cynicism.

Someone who could be relied on to never, ever look at the files. Someone who could be relied on never to think, never to innovate and never, ever show any hint of curiosity.

There was a pattern emerging here, he realised. He felt a sick sense of anticipation.

'Okay,' he said. 'So do you actually manage transactions, or what?'

'Me?' Shevins looked like he'd asked her if she shovelled dung. 'Skak no! It's all automated.' She waved a hand at the cogitator. 'Network and comm-spirits and stuff. I don't know. Don't care, either. Just sometimes someone needs a purchase order or something called up, and that's when they phone me. I call it up, and I send it to them. Or sometimes they need a stop placing on a pay-feed. Or something.'

'Have you had any calls recently?'

She shook her head. 'No, no-one's bothered me in ages. I kind of think they've forgotten me.'

Well, Inyre thought, that explained why he was still being paid. The purge had broken some of the links in the Church's administrative structure. People remembered that the Curia existed, obviously, but they'd completely forgotten how it worked. The people who'd known were dead or in hiding. Normally someone would presumably have phoned Shevins here and told her to put a stop on his file. Only no-one had, and Shevins didn't have the initiative or the ability to think to check payroll herself.

'If you don't mind me asking,' Inyre said, 'what level are you?'

Shevins stopped sliding her file back and forth. For the first time, there was a hint of animation in her face. 'That's a very personal question,' she said. 'Why, do you want to make me some bouncy babies?'

Inyre gagged at that thought. 'The Church needs to check its recruitment practises,' he extemporised. It was probably true – to judge from this conversation, the Church did need to check its recruitment practises!

Shevins simply wasn't self-aware enough to spot the ruse. 'I'm a sixth-level,' she said, a little defensively.

Inyre felt a depressed sense of world-weariness washing over him. She was just one level below him! If this was who they were letting go as high as the sixth level these days – well, no wonder the entire system seemed to be falling apart at the seams! So much for the old ways, he thought.

'Okay,' he said. 'Look, I need to have a look at the files. Can you, you know, arrange that?'

'Sure,' she nodded. 'I was just about to head home anyway.' She nodded at the screen. 'I'm in the system now. If you like, I won't bother logging out.'

Inyre's mind boggled. So much for cogitator security!

'Uh, thank you,' he said weakly. Then another thought occurred to him. 'Say, it's only fourteen hundred hours.'

Shevins shrugged. 'No-one's going to call me, so why bother hanging around? I mean, I know the contract says work to eighteen hundred, but no-one calls, you know? No-one cares.'

Inyre was slack-jawed by this point. Could Shevins have any less work ethic?

'I don't usually come in until eleven hundred, anyway,' she added.

Apparently yes, there were still new lows to be plumbed.

'I mean, that's on the days I come in at all,' she added. 'You were lucky to find me today. I didn't bother coming in for a couple of weeks this month. It's been so quiet here!'

'Just – just go!' Inyre told her. 'I'll – I'll lock up. When I, uh, when I leave. You know.'

She shrugged. 'Whatever. Your call.'

She stood up and retrieved her coat from the back of the chair. She dumped the nail file onto the desk. It landed with a quiet clink. She slung the coat over her shoulder and sauntered out of the room. The door banged shut behind her.

Inyre watched her go with a sense of unreality. Was it possible for a human being to be that useless?

In a fit of bleak humour, he wondered how she coped with the genuinely difficult things in life, like lockable doors or tin openers.

Whoever was pulling the Church's strings had succeeded brilliantly with her. They'd clearly been looking for an employee who would never cause them any trouble. But possibly – just possibly! – they'd succeeded a bit too well. Shevins was just that bit too incurious and that bit too idle. They'd out-clevered themselves. They'd created a weakness in their scheme, a hole in the side of the shell-game.

She'd left the financial system logged in and active. And she'd just given a complete stranger access to the accounts for the Octalian branch of the Originist Church. Apparently, Shevins was so utterly incompetent that she saw no problem with this. The weirdest thing of all was, this made Inyre's activities here legal! He'd been granted access by an authorised user of the system.

Moments later, Inyre was sat behind the desk.

He started going through the books. His fingers rattled on the keyboard as he fired off query after query into the huge financial database. Transactions and accounts scrolled past, invoices filed and payments debited.

As he looked, a frown appeared on his face. It deepened. After an hour's browsing he briefly excused himself to get something to drink and a quick snack. On his return, he settled down again, running through the reams of numbers.

Finally, he sat back. The chair protested under him with a loud groan. He leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. He sighed, long and hard.

His suspicions were proven. The Church had two sources of income. One was the one everyone knew about, the donations from the faithful. It was by far the smaller. The other one, not yet entirely exhausted, consisted of four anonymous payments. They'd been credited to the accounts over a period between three and two years ago. The existence of the money had been concealed from the tax man, using a string of front-companies and ghost investments. It was clever, but no doubt the largesse had bought a very creative accountant indeed.

Eighty billion crowns. Not quite enough to buy a planet, but certainly enough to shake one. And that was exactly what they'd done.

And it was all signed off by the Church Hierarchs. There were their signatures! Inyre was appalled but also unsurprised. It seemed they had known – the Council of Hierarchs had known something, of that there was no possible doubt. How complicit they were – well, that was not absolutely clear. Had they dared investigate their mystery benefactor? Had they tried to look below the surface? Inyre suspected not.

Inyre found himself wondering how far back this went. He felt a strange need to speak.

To the air, he said, 'Was it ever real? Was there ever anything real behind my church? Or is it just one vast shell? Was it deliberately seeded amongst men like me – embittered veterans and the dispossessed? Were we deliberately sought out, to be crafted and used? Are we men, or are we just puppets?'

The air had no answer, but Inyre felt he was groping toward his own. The volume of money was beyond reason. And the fact that it had been channelled, apparently tracelessly – there was only one type of organisation that could possibly have done this. There was a word for it. It was a necessary word, but also a sere and frightening one.

The word was 'government'.

Someone, somewhere in the government was behind this. Of that, Inyre had no doubt. Who else had access to sums this astronomical? Who else had the skills to shunt them round without anyone else knowing? And when he thought of the g-word, he wasn't thinking of the Assembly. This was beyond their means. This had to come from somewhere far up the hierarchy, far beyond the level of mere planets.

'Was my church always false?' he asked the air again. 'That's what I fear – I fear someone built us. Someone fashioned us, chose us, crafted us – but not for the glory of the Emperor. They created us to be a tool, a part in some bizarre struggle. We exist to serve, but we know not our true master.'

There was only one question left, and this was one Inyre dared not utter aloud.

What role did Phelonas play in all of this? Was he the instigator – was he the beast who had invoked the Originist Church? Was all this his fault? Had he corrupted some easily-led shill higher up in the Administratum?

Or was he too a pawn in this scheme, however unwitting?

'How far,' Inyre asked the air, 'does this go?'


	55. Chapter 55 Taking Stock

'Skakking ugly, isn't it?'

The porthole was shaped like an arrowslit from an ancient castle. Its edges were surrounded with extra plates, shaped like dressed stone. The plates held the armour-glass pane in place – the medieval illusion was spoiled a little by the dull grey rivets bolted into them and the black vacuum-resistant seals around the foot-thick pane. Kodos wasn't paying the window any attention, though. His eyes were locked on the scene of devastation framed within it.

Lakon nodded. 'Yes. I don't think anyone's going to want to do a landscape of that.'

The planet that had been Minoris was firmly in view. It was right in the middle of the _Wrath_'s porthole. The strike cruiser was parked in high orbit, far enough out to avoid the newly-forming debris ring. Due to the distance, the planet looked surprisingly small – it fitted entirely within the narrow slit of the porthole.

'It's not as molten now,' Kodos noted.

Lakon nodded. 'It has been a whole week since the impact. I suppose the lava's starting to cool.'

The effects of the Nid ship's fall were far from played out. The change in the planet's appearance was merely one sign of the processes at work below. The surface had cooled into a kind of dull, dirty black, broken here and there by narrow reddish streamers of magma. They curled across its surface like filamentary rivers, or possibly trails of blood splashed across a crime scene. The planet was in half-phase. Its daylight side was a greyish charcoal shade, compared to the midnight-soot of the night side. The trails of lava still glowed fitfully, even on the dark side.

The one exception to the cindery monotony was the impact site itself. That remained open and molten, a bloody carmine wound in the side of the world. It still stared blindly into the sky itself. It wasn't a crater – it would have been far too deep for that. What would have been the bottom of the crater was well into what had been the planet's mantle – it had immediately flooded with magma. Instead of a crater, it was a sea of molten rock. It was just visible to the two Space Marines, up in the top-right quadrant of the planet. The planet's rotation would soon carry it out of sight.

'The ring is almost pretty,' Kodos said.

The ring was the last element of the scene. Partly formed during the initial impact and partly by the ejecta-fountain at the impact's antipode, it wrapped the planet in a foggy belt of debris. Most of the particles were the size of dust-grains and they scattered light exactly like rock dust. The effect was oddly like a sort of flat annulus of fog – it was as if the planet was rising out of the mist! The _Wrath_'s orbit was presently above the plane of the debris-belt – they were looking down onto it. The belt became densest a few thousand miles out from the planet, creating an effect rather like a gauzy halo.

On the daylight side, the belt cast a weak but visible shadow.

Lakon nodded. 'True. And there's quite a tonage of stuff in there. The Tech-Priests did the readings this morning. Apparently Minoris is seven and a quarter miles narrower than it used to be.'

'Skak,' Kodos said. 'In its own way, this is impressive.'

'Yes. The reaction from Majoris has been impressive, too.'

'Not in a good way, I take it?'

'No, of course not. The stock market crashed.'

'What?'

'Oddly enough, a lot of businesses traded with Minoris. And a lot of people owned holiday homes over there. Only now all that's gone – dust and ashes. Nothing like having your assets go up in smoke! Plus the sight of the neighbouring planet getting torched – it gave a lot of people a fright. They opened the markets for an hour, then the Corporation had them shut an hour later.'

'The _Corporation_ shut them? This is the same one – the MDC?'

Lakon nodded. 'The market went down by twenty-seven percent in that hour. That's why they shut it – before it could drop any further. There's no word on when they'll let trading be resumed.'

'Maybe they won't,' Kodos said. 'That would be a result – an end to the cult of greed!'

Lakon snorted. 'And maybe the Warp will freeze over.'

'So,' Kodos said, 'I guess it has to be asked. What was the death toll?'

Lakon looked around the compartment. It was early in the morning, ship time, and the area was quiet. It was usually used as a briefing room – there was a long table behind the two Space Marines, but no-one was sat at it. In the corner was a small gilded shrine to the Emperor. A single votive candle flickered bravely. Overhead the air was filled with the gentle susurration of the ventilation system.

Lakon said, 'Near as we can estimate, two hundred and sixty-one million.'

'So most of them.'

He nodded. 'Pretty much.'

'It's enough to make you wonder,' Kodos said, 'what good any of this is.'

Lakon was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'Don't think of the people who died. Think of the ones who didn't. We reckoned on two hundred and eighty million beforehand. That's seventeen million survivors. If we'd done nothing here, that would be zero. Zero plus Majoris, in fact. If we'd done nothing, we wouldn't be looking at nearly twenty million surviving. We'd been looking at a quarter of a trillion dead. And that would be far, far worse than this tragedy.'

Kodos nodded. 'You're correct, my lord. As always. So I suppose the question is, what now?'

'Mopping up,' Lakon said. 'The remaining Tyranids can't be ignored. But they can't win, either. In a way, that has done us a favour!' He pointed at the planet. 'Fellack was speculating earlier about whether it might in fact be a miracle.'

'What?' Kodos looked incredulous. His mechanical eye glittered in the light. 'Has the man lost his mind?'

Lakon shrugged. 'It's not for the likes of me to question the deductions of chaplains. His notion was that the people who died, by dying, made victory possible here. So in fact they were martyred in the Emperor's name, and are surely now with Him in paradise.'

Kodos subsided but there was a sceptical gleam in his eyes. 'And how's Kaylos's nosebleed?' he asked acidly.

The Librarian had been affected by the Nid mothership's death-scream. Like all the psykers in the system, he'd felt it. Unlike most, he was a Space Marine and thus had a rather robust constitution – where most others had ended up in hospital or even dead, he'd just bled all over his suit's collar and gorget.

'Kaylos's nosebleed,' Lakon said, 'is under control, I'm sure.'

'So the strategic situation is now under control?'

Lakon nodded. 'Yes. It will take a while as we don't have many ships left and there are a lot of critters out there. But they have no co-ordination, no tactics and no sign of any guiding intelligence. Obviously they must be destroyed, but it will be done soon enough. It's just a matter of patience. For all practical purposes, we've already won.'

'So our forces are staying here?'

'For now, yes,' Lakon said, 'although not all of us.'

'Who's getting sent back?' Kodos asked.

Lakon gave him a flat look. 'Who do you think, Brother-Sergeant?'

'Us? But there's fighting to be-'

'Yes, there is. And your men aren't in a fit state to be in it. Patreus is still bedbound and Karo's ankle still isn't completely fixed. And then there's the possible Type II issue. That needs checking up on. And we don't have the resources here.'

Kodos opened his mouth, then closed it again. He scowled. 'I take it I can't talk you out of this?'

Lakon shook his head. 'No you can't, Brother-Sergeant.'

'There's still fighting to be done. I don't like walking away, and nor will my lads.'

'Of course they won't, they're Space Marines. But it doesn't matter what a Space Marine likes or not – he'll do what he's damn well told!'

'Yes of course he will, my lord.' Kodos accepted the inevitable with ornery grace.

'Besides,' Lakon added, 'there's another issue.'

'There is?'

The captain nodded. 'You'll be taking the Inquisitor with you.'

Kodos stared. 'Is that wise?'

'She's still ill,' Lakon said. 'Besides, it might not be politic to keep her here.'

'Why not? She's supposed to be in charge.'

'The Warp routes are open again. It's very likely that there'll be communications soon, from the Administratum and others. One might even say, meddling. They may want to take over. And I think we've had enough power vacuums for the time being.'

Kodos's organic eye brightened as he spotted the logic. 'But if the person who's supposedly in charge is somewhere else for a while…'

'Then she can't answer her mail, can she? And we can't implement any new plans until we have orders from our overall commander, can we? Lady Sharrow gets a chance to recuperate and we get some time to clean this mess up. And the Administratum desk-warmers get to fire off annoyed memos at each other, and you know they love doing that! Everyone wins.'

Kodos laughed. 'I suppose they do. And if anyone queries it?'

'Well, she's ill. She needs specialist treatment. The hospitals here are saturated with sick evacuees and the war-wounded. The Deltan ones aren't. It makes sense to take here there.'

'Oh. I see. A good excuse!'

'And all the better because it happens to be true,' Lakon said. 'Plus I remember she muttered something about having been on the Ikranos panel.'

Kodos looked back out of the window. The dead planet was reflected on the lens of his artificial eye, a distorted blur. 'She did, didn't she?'

'And she implied that new evidence could re-open that verdict,' Lakon said. 'Perhaps we have some new evidence.'

'The revolt on Gamma, you mean?'

Lakon nodded. 'Active sabotage if I've ever seen it.'

'What about the Raven Lord?'

'He suggested this plan. It might just be a tidy way to close off our little Originist problem.' Lakon looked at Kodos. 'And that's why you need to be with her. First off, she knows your squad, and seems to trust them. And secondly, you have that saboteur's memories.'

Kodos pulled a face. 'He tasted as ugly as he looked.'

'Did you get anything from him?'

Kodos shook his head. 'Not really. A few blurred impressions. And some silly stuff – there's a vivid memory of walking along a pavement when he was three. A sunny day somewhere and a dog barking in the distance. I've no idea why that came across!'

'So nothing substantive?'

'Not really, no. But then, we couldn't really expect anything could we? The omophagea-'

'Is our little problem, yes,' Lakon agreed. 'Well, keep trying. It's possible some more memories might surface. It can take a while for these things to bed in.'

'Actually,' Kodos said, 'there was something else I was going to report, my lord.'

'Really? What was that?'

'Just before the end, I was talking to Sarrack.'

'Oh yes, the former Governor.' Lakon stared at the planet. 'Strange how the best thing in some mens' lives is not the way they lived them but the way they ended them.'

'Yes, it came as a surprise to me as well,' Kodos said. 'Apparently there was still some human decency buried in there somewhere. He had it well-hidden!'

'The children were sent to Majoris,' Lakon said. 'Quite the media sensation, I understand. Cute human-interest story, with a side order of tragic self-sacrifice. They've had reporters all over them. The propaganda people have been crawling over it. They put it on the news the day after the planet burned. Apparently there've been sixteen million offers of adoption.'

'Well,' Kodos said, 'that's good to know. I guess they'll find a reasonable home somewhere in that lot. But while we were still loading, I talked to Sarrack.'

'Did you? That must've been a bit galling.'

Kodos shrugged. 'He could have saved himself, but he decided not to. And spared some other people instead. If a man's prepared to put his own neck on the block like that, I could spare him a minute or two of my time. So I spoke to him.'

'What did he say?'

'He was surprisingly self-aware, actually. He admitted he'd skakked up – pretty much in as many words, too!'

'Wonders will never cease. A noble admitting the truth? And all it took was the imminent threat of death!'

'Perhaps we should hold more of them to the fire,' Kodos said with committed cynicism.

'It would do them good,' Lakon agreed, 'but it would have the Administratum howling.'

'He did,' Kodos said, 'say something a bit odd, though.'

'What, more odd than usual?'

'He seemed to suggest a conspiracy,' Kodos said, 'against us.'

Lakon frowned. 'A conspiracy – to what ends?'

'That wasn't too clear,' Kodos said. 'I didn't think much of it at first, my lord. Afterwards, I just thought it was him clearing his mental bowels. But he did make a few points.'

'Those being?'

'He suggested someone had fomented the split on Minoris. He suggested the Loser rebellion was a put-up job. And he even suggested there might be an Originist connection.'

Lakon looked thoughtful. 'Well, that's an interesting idea. But who would do such a thing – and why?'

'He seemed to think there were people who'd benefit if we were humbled,' Kodos said.

Lakon frowned. He breathed deeply. 'There probably are. Short of extinction, no disaster is ever bad for everyone. But … who? He was implying an domestic conspiracy, I take it?'

Kodos nodded. 'He didn't say anything about xenos, my lord. It sounded like it might partly be aimed against Delta, as well as us.'

'Delta. A disgruntled trading partner, maybe? I know we're resented in several neighbouring Sectors. The lack of tithes is a great privilege, and one that Delta exploits mercilessly.'

'But I didn't have a chance to get any more detail out of him. Two minutes before launch wasn't enough to work with. To be honest, I don't get the impression that he really knew much either. Apparently there was pressure but it was all covert. Memos at dawn, that sort of thing.'

'Memos at dawn!' Lakon snorted. 'Yes, it would fit, wouldn't it?'

'Is this – believable?' Kodos asked.

'The Imperial system,' Lakon said, 'thrives on competition. We live in desperate times and we need vigorous people at the top. The system is designed to weed the inadequate out, before they can do too much damage. But this can be a problem too, sometimes. Lots of people in overlapping roles, competing against each other, all working towards Terra – it does lead to an amount of plotting. A certain level of scheming is to be expected – maybe not desirable, but it's what people will do. But when they think to drag the Astartes into their games … that's going too far. We exist to serve, not to rule! Our duty is neutrality amongst these squabbles.'

'But apparently someone's trying to use us.'

'All the more reason,' Lakon said, 'to take the Inquisitor to Delta, then. Any plot aimed at us must affect Delta as well. If there is a crime then there must be evidence. Maybe she can learn something there.'


	56. Chapter 56 Penitence and Reassurance

The chapel was quiet.

Fans hummed softly behind concealed grills. They engendered a slight but steady drift of air through the small nave. The walls were lined with battle standards, trophies of wars past and present. The edges of the long flags stirred in the gentle breeze. Up at the front of the nave, there was a stone altar. It sat on a raised dais, with a rank of three polished stone steps leading up to it. The altar itself was plain and unadorned, in the Storm Ravens' preferred style, but on it sat was a chalice and a line of six fat votive candles. Dribbles of wax trickled down onto the stonework. Behind the altar was a three-panelled window of armour-glass. The panes had been overlaid with coloured chunks of normal glass, in mimicry of the stained windows of planet-bound churches. The little panes of conventional glazing were even set in the traditional lead frames. The illusion was convincing. One could almost forget that behind them was a dozen inches of special composite, and beyond that was the emptiness of space.

Almost, that is, aside from the enigmatic lights of the Warp. They played behind the panes, casting a shifting, uneasy illumination through the chapel. Rippling waves of colour and shade surged through the pointed silhouettes cast onto the floor. Aside from the candles, there was no other source of light in the room.

Alaster was knelt amongst the pews in front of the altar. His helmet was off, sat on the stone floor next to him. He was mumbling the words of a prayer. His bolt pistol was in its holster and his chainsword was clutched in one hand.

Alaster remained there for a few more minutes, then he reached the end of the penitentiary ritual. He stood, bowing once more to the altar. He picked up his helmet and turned round. He was quite alone inside the chapel – of that he was sure. To human eyes it would have been uncomfortably dark, but not to his. The faint glow of infrared light added an extra luminance to the scene, from the bright heat-glow of the candles to the faint frictional warming of the grills over the fans. There were even brighter streaks along the walls, where pipes warmed the ship-structure surrounding them. The heat seeped in through the wall-material. It wasn't much, but it added a pale shadow of light to the chapel.

Alaster walked toward the arched double doors at the back of the chamber. His boot-soles clicked on the stone. The sound was minimal – human ears would have heard nothing. Alaster walked with instinctive care and besides, the soles of his boots were designed to minimise the sound of footfalls.

The near-silence was shattered when he approached the door.

He reached out to open it. A moment before his gauntleted hand got to the handle, the hinges squealed. Alaster winced as the door was pushed open.

'Sorry,' Nasty said, sounding embarrassed. His hand was still on the inner handle. 'Didn't realise that was going to be that skakking loud.'

The squeal had been unpleasant. Alaster's teeth were still on edge. 'Someone needs to oil that thing,' he agreed.

Nasty sniffed the air. 'Yeah, hasn't been done in skakking ages. Wonder why.'

Alaster shrugged. 'The crew've probably had other things on their minds.' He ran a finger over one of the hinges. Nasty's nose was right – it was dry as a bone. No wonder it had squeaked. 'Oh well. We'll notify someone. They'll get it sorted out.'

He stepped through the door. Tucking his chainsword under one arm for a moment, he pulled the door shut behind him. It squeaked again, although not quite as badly as a moment ago.

He looked around.

The corridor outside the chapel was strictly utilitarian. There were metal treads under foot, metal panelling on the walls with handholds distributed across all surface in case of gravity failure. Here and there were stencilled corridor numbers on the walls, directions pointing up and down, left and right. It was all lit with the harsh gleam of white strip-lighting. Unlike the chapel, this corridor was bright. The growl of the ventilation fans was louder here. Alaster could feel the whir of the fans, just slightly, propagating up into his soles through the floor. A breeze stirred across his face.

The chapel door clicked into place. Painted across both halves of the door was a prominent Imperial eagle. Alaster wiped a bit of dust from it, momentarily distracted.

'Are you done praying?' Nasty asked.

Alaster looked at him. As they were ship-board, Nasty had his helmet off too. The striplighting was bringing out his facial scar. It was more prominent than normal, a long white gash running across his face. Odd that the geneseed transformation hadn't touched that, Alaster thought, given what it had done to the rest of their bodies. The preservation of minor bits of personal appearance – was that just biological accident, or had someone purposefully designed the process that way? He knew that in some Chapters, the level of transformation went all the way to the level of facial appearance, in an attempt to make the brothers wholey-uniform before their Emperor. That wasn't the case with the Storm Ravens. He wondered for a moment if perhaps it was supposed to be. Was it just accident, or had their geneseed deviated from the holy design?

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the sudden thoughts. Skak it - he was trying to have less of these dubious speculations, not more! He felt annoyed with himself.

'You're not?' Nasty asked.

'What – oh.' Alaster had entirely forgotten Nasty's question. 'Uh no, no I'm not done. Five times a day – at least! And a different chapel each time. The way we're theoretically supposed to.'

'We don't do that skak most of the time,' Nasty said.

Alaster winced at his brother's irreverence. 'Most of the time we're fighting. That's holy. So it sidesteps it.'

'Oh. I hadn't thought of it like that. And there was me thinking you were about to turn into skakking Patreus.'

'What training hall do we have this time?' Alaster asked, eager to change the subject.

'Number six,' Nasty said. 'It's that way.' He pointed down the corridor.

He meant Training Hall Number Six, where the two marines were going next. It was close combat practise time. Kodos had decided that Nasty needed refreshing on the finer points of chainsword fighting – it had been a while since Nasty had used one. As for Alaster, it was part of his penance.

They walked down the corridor, boots clicking on the metal underfoot. The air smelt cool and clean, with a hint of chemical detergents. It was a typical shipboard smell.

'So how is the whole penance thing going?' Nasty asked. 'Feeling any closer to the Emperor yet?'

The day after Minoris's demise, Alaster had gone to Chaplain Fellack's confessional and had shame-facedly admitted all of his moments of borderline-thought-crime at Albatross. Fellack had listened impassively, then had recommended what he felt to be an appropriate regime of contrition. The errors, he had said, were hardly terminal in of themselves and Alaster had done the right thing by airing them promptly and honestly. However, they needed addressing. Dissension, even within one's head, was unacceptable in a Space Marine. Perhaps especially within one's own head – rot, Fellack had said, grew the fastest where there was no light to impede it.

Alaster had initially felt appalled, fearing that he had committed an unconscionable error. Somewhat to his surprise, Fellack had seemed more relaxed about the matter. The chaplain had remarked that such thoughts were only to be expected. He had added that there was even a school in Church thought that held that faith would be meaningless without doubt. He also added that Alaster's deviance had not grown into actual disobedience. There was an error, yes, but the chaplain felt it could be expunged.

Fellack had prescribed a regime of prayer, fasting and extra combat training to ensure that Alaster's soul was appropriately cleansed by the time the _Wrath_ got home. Alaster found himself on a tedious bread and water diet, accompanied only by a side-order of supplement pills. (They were there to ensure a proper nutritional balance was maintained, but done so in a way that couldn't detract from the sanction of the bread-and-water fast.) Alaster was required to pray regularly at the penitent chapels, and the chapel cogitators had been set to log his attendance. In addition, the four or so hours that he would normally spend asleep were spent on the firing range or at the armoury. He was to keep this up for the rest of the voyage.

Alaster considered Nasty's question. 'I don't really feel much different,' he said. 'I suppose it takes a while to have effect. And it's not like this is really that different to normal, you know.'

As they walked, they passed another intersection. Another tunnel-like corridor stretched off, closed doors branching off from it. A white stencilled sign announced, SECTION S42 in stentorian and unfriendly letters. The Space Marines paid it no attention.

'No beer!' Nasty shuddered. 'Now that's skakking cruel and skakking unusual, that is!'

'It'll probably do me good to stay sober for a while,' Alaster sighed. Nasty had a point, though – he was missing the beer. 'And anyway, there'll be plenty to drink when we get back to Delta.'

'How long do we have now?' Nasty asked.

'I think it's about a fortnight,' Alaster said. 'Then it's back into the Octalian System.'

'The sooner we're out of the Warp, the better,' Nasty said.

'Now that,' Alaster agreed, ' is the Emperor's own truth.'

'I wonder how Minoris is doing,' Nasty said.

'I can't imagine it's good,' Alaster said. He was trying not to think too much about the things that had happened there. To change the subject, he said, 'I heard the Inquisitor wasn't too happy, when she came round again.'

'Yeah,' Nasty said. 'I heard the same thing. In fact, I think half the ship heard it.'

Lady Sharrow had regained consciousness a few days ago. After her original collapse, she had lapsed into a catatonic state for a while – a combination, the apothecaries had said, of severe alcohol misuse, dehydration, stress and physical exhaustion. On her recovery, she had discovered the _Wrath_ to be in the Warp, bound for Octalis.

Her reaction had been volcanic.

However, her temper had quickly abated. Lady Sharrow was at heart a pragmatist, and she was well aware that trying to intimidate Space Marines was largely a waste of time. That said, she had made her displeasure at her shanghaiing clear, in an eminently emphatic fashion.

Apparently, not even Kodos had ever sworn that much or that vociferously in front of Lakon. In fact, the episode was already entering Chapter legend.

A few minutes later Nasty and Alaster reached Training Hall Six. The hall was a big space, a cubical volume a hundred feet on a side. It was designed to be able to able to simulate close combat in a wide range of conditions. Light was supplied by four floating globes – they were currently drifting up near the ceiling, one close to each corner.

The door clicked shut behind Alaster and Nasty.

'Helmets on,' Alaster said, reaching for his own.

Nasty nodded, lifting his up. There was a click as it engaged with the neckring. A moment later, Alaster followed suit.

With a quiet _snick_, a section of wall retracted, revealing the training swords. These had blunt blades, with a slower spin-rate than a combat chainsword. They were supposed to match the feel and handling of a fighting chainsword, without being as certainly-lethal. Mistakes with these were supposed to be survivable.

That said, injuries could and did happen.

Alaster walked over and exchanged his blade. The receptacle in the wall would store his actual chainsword during the bout. Nasty switched his as well. The two marines also switched their bolt pistols for dummy ones. The dummies were designed to match the weight and proportions of the real ones, but weren't actual, usable guns. Their purpose was only to duplicate the encumbrance of a full combat load-out; this training session was for swords, not guns.

With their weapons exchanged, the hatch slid shut. It merged all but seamlessly with the wall – only a faint line betrayed its presence.

Alaster looked back at Nasty. 'Duration?' he asked. This practise session had been Nasty's turn to set up.

'Thirty minutes or knock-out,' Nasty said. Alaster nodded. So they'd either be fighting for thirty minutes or until one of them was unable to continue – knock-out. In practise, that meant they'd be fighting for half an hour. They were both highly skilled and Alaster didn't expect to land a knock-out blow on Nasty. Nor was Nasty likely to land a knock-out on him.

Alaster scanned their surrounds. Bare metal walls, unadorned but marked with various closed apertures, those being the means through which the environment in here could be modified. 'What about environment?' he said. The interiors of training chambers could be landscaped to a high degree – it was odd to see one this bare. He'd seen dozens of environments convincingly recreated in these places, from beaches to forests to deserts. This steel mediocrity was odd in its stark bareness.

'I set it to random,' Nasty said. 'I don't know what it's going to do.'

'Doesn't look promising,' Alaster said.

'Yeah, it is a bit skakking boring, isn't it?'

'So much for random, then.'

'Maybe the Machine-Spirit conked out?' Nasty suggested. He was consistent in his disrespect, Alaster noted.

'Who knows?' Alaster shrugged. 'Anyway, the sooner we start, the sooner I can go to a more interesting chamber.'

Nasty nodded. 'Okay.'

He stepped back.

They separated out, so that each marine was in a separate half of the chamber.

'Ready?' Alaster called out.

Nasty nodded. 'Ready.'

Following the prescriptions of the Rites of Training, they both bowed to each other.

'May the Emperor guide our blades,' Alaster intoned formally. That marked the official start of the bout; the lights overhead briefly dipped in acknowledgement.

Alaster dropped into a fighting crouch, watching Nasty carefully.

The surprising thing about fighting with swords was just how much of an art it was. Fighting was simple, but fighting and surviving was another matter entirely. Before entering the Chapter, Alaster had always assumed it was just a matter of hitting as hard as possible. It turned out that was rather naïve, to say the least.

Oddly enough, there was a similarity between chainsword combat and some board games. A key part of success was figuring out what your opponent would try to do – and countering it.

Alaster watched as Nasty dropped into a fighting crouch too. And then, almost too quick for him to notice it, he saw Nasty's blade twitch slightly. Yes – there was an idea! Nasty had an unfortunate liking for powerful, overhand strokes. Kodos kept trying to beat it out of him, but wasn't having complete success.

Nasty just liked hitting things too much.

An overhand stroke could be devastating, given the momentum behind it – but it also left vulnerable areas of the body open, at least briefly. And that little twitch of Nasty's, that was a giveaway – his muscles were tensing themselves for an overhand opening. It was likely Nasty didn't even realise he was giving it away.

Another key part of success in combat was deception. Your enemy would try to counter your strategies – but if you sent them the wrong signals, and they countered the wrong thing…

Alaster put one foot in front of the other. The overhead lights gleamed on the metal decking beneath him. He turned himself slightly away, as if he'd been distracted by something. He held his blade with the pommel toward Nasty and the raised point turned to the wall. This stance was called 'Martyr's Gate' in the fighting manuals. It always felt weird doing it – you essentially had to turn your back on your opponent. It was a high-risk strategy – if it went wrong, you could easily end up with a blade straight to your face or neck. But Alaster was confident he'd read Nasty right.

Nasty took the bait. He charged.

Alaster heard the boot-soles clanking on the metal floor. He waited, breathing slowly and carefully. Breathing was critically important – you had to keep that steady. It was easy to get out of hand and find yourself panting like a dog. And if your breathing went out of sync, it could easily disturb your mood, make you loose focus. You had to be particularly careful when you had your head cooped up inside a helmet.

Nasty was almost on him.

At the last second, Alaster leaned onto his left foot. Shifting his weight to one side, he pivoted. As he did so he brought the pommel of his practise-sword up in a sweeping arc. It shot through the air in a silvery blur.

Nasty, of course, saw it. But by then he was committed to his charge – too much mass and too much speed. Momentum carried him straight toward Alaster's stroke.

Alaster was aiming the pommel at Nasty's elbow-guard. Just as predicted, Nasty was going for an overhand stroke. If he did this just right, the jarring impact would stun Nasty's arm, knocking the blade right out of his fingers. Then Alaster could reverse the swing and bring the flat of his chainsword down on Nasty's head. The cogitators would count that as a knock-out blow –

But Nasty, of course, had connected what Alaster was doing. He was slower on the uptake, that was true, but he certainly wasn't stupid.

Nasty threw himself forward, turning his charge into a dive. He passed clean below Alaster's sweep. Alaster's blade connected with nothing. Suddenly unbalanced, Alaster stumbled –

Nasty hit the deck with a clatter. He rolled to his feet. He pivoted himself around, gripping the housing of his sword in both hands. Alaster was off-balance and facing the wrong way.

He saw a shadow sweep toward him.

Then the pommel of Nasty's sword slammed into Alaster's backpack.

It connected with a loud thud. The flipside of Nasty's overhand strokes, of course, was the sheer amount of physical power behind them. He was strong, even for a marine. Nasty liked them because they could, sometimes, work for him.

The impact smacked Alaster's torso forward. He gasped, the breath literally knocked from his lungs. His feet slid on the desk, propelled forwards. He stumbled.

Alaster tried to turn. He fumbled with his sword, losing precious seconds as he reversed it in his hands. He had one hand on the hilt now and the other on the blade-housing. The blade was tilted upwards and held a little down and back from his body, ready for a quick upward thrust. The idea was to aim for one of the gaps in Nasty's armour, trying to hit another knock-out blow.

Alaster was turning as the shadow behind him moved.

He caught a gleam of lights on metal. Nasty's blade descended. There was barely any time at all. Alaster only had an instant, and there was only one thing he could do. He shifted himself, twisting around.

Instead of his hands, the blade slammed into his shoulder-pad.

The impact was still ferocious. Alaster staggered under it. Pain flared down his shoulder-joint. If that impact had hit his hands, he would have dropped the sword – of that there was no question.

Nasty's blade skittered along Alaster's shoulder pad, making a loud scratching noise as it did so. It slipped off to one side, driven by the residual force of its swing. Alaster used this chance to spring to the side, disengaging. He landed on the decking with a thud.

He had drawn back a few feet from Nasty. Back in a fighting crouch, he feinted toward Nasty. Nasty stepped aside.

Alaster pulled back. He was busy re-evaluating the situation.

Nasty appeared to sense something. He raised his blade, both hands on the hilt. He was holding it upwards, in front of him. Access to his torso was blocked off – skak! It appeared he had learned something from his earlier stance.

He looked like he was about to strike. Alaster realised he must be giving something away – but what? A quick glance down revealed the embarrassing truth. Without realising it, he'd dropped into what the manuals called 'Guard of the Fool'. He certainly felt like a fool.

He had his blade in front of him, gripped with both hands, but the blade had tilted downward under the force of his own weight. It was a guard-stance of a sort – the blade was between himself and Nasty – but not an effective one. His torso was wide open. This was one of Alaster's bad habits – he tended to drop into this when he wasn't quite sure what to do next. When sparring with Kodos, this usually resulted in a telling-off and bruises – 'React, don't skakking _vacillate_!' was Kodos's usual statement.

That was a third element to success in close combat. Too little analysis could get you killed, but so could too much. You had to learn to react instinctively, and you had to train laboriously and repetitively, so that your instincts were correct.

At the last moment Alaster realised what Nasty was about to do.

Nasty ran forwards, thrusting upward with his blade. He was aiming for the slight gap between Alaster's gorget and helmet. The manuals simply called this stance the 'Decapitator', and the name described its purpose quite nicely. The blunt blades wouldn't actually decapitate Alaster, but it would hurt. And count as a knock-out.

Alaster wasn't having it.

Alaster slammed his blade upwards. It moved up in a blur, held parallel to his torso. It collided with Nasty's with a loud clash of metal. The impact reverberated up Alaster's arms but he drove the blade further up. Nasty's thrust was deflected harmlessly upward. His foreward progress rudely interrupted, it was Nasty's turn to stumble.

He stepped back. 'Nice parry,' he grudgingly acknowledged.

'I try,' Alaster said.

Nasty threw himself forward. He brought his blade up sharply. Alaster tried to deflect it again but this time Nasty pressed forward, leaning his entire weight into the stroke. The sword tilted backward. Suddenly Alaster found his arm pinned between Nasty's elbow and his own side.

Nasty had a clean thrust at Alaster's face. Alaster couldn't move his blade – the pressure on his arm was intense. He could see his own reflection in Nasty's eyelenses, the shadow of Nasty's looming pommel cast starkly over his helmet.

The fourth rule of combat – if you can't follow your plan, do something unexpected.

Alaster kicked Nasty's leg, as hard as he could.

As he did he released his other hand from the hilt of his blade. He made a grab for Nasty's wrist. Push with the leg, pull with the hand – Nasty was thrown to the side.

With a clatter of armour and sword, the other Raven hit the decking.

His field of view suddenly freed of Nasty's pommel, Alaster had a chance to fall back. He was breathing hard, fast but regular. He could feel his breath gusting in and out within the breathing mask inside his helmet. With each deep draw came the now-familiar metal-and-rubber scent.

Nasty rolled back onto his feet. He charged at Alaster again, blade held out diagonally over his torso, pointed forwards. This was called 'the Ram', so named because this attack was meant to act as a battering ram. The impact would throw your opponent over, leaving them on the floor and open for a single, finishing thrust.

Alaster brought his blade up, diagonal in the opposite direction. The Ram collided with the Guard of the Cross. The air rang with the screech of metal on metal. Alaster forced Nasty's blade harmlessly to the side.

'This is getting annoying,' Nasty growled. 'Just skakking get yourself knocked out already!'

'I'll schedule that,' Alaster said. 'I'll pencil it in for when I'm done beating you up!'

This time, Nasty kicked.

Alaster felt an impact on his left leg. It forced his foot backward. His weight was suddenly directed forward, onto the crossed chainswords. He had just an instant to realise this was bad before Nasty tilted his blade.

Hopelessly unbalanced, Alaster fell over.

He hit the floor with a thud. He felt the deck vibrate under him. Suddenly he was looking up, at Nasty's blade-

'Oh skak,' he muttered.

But then they were interrupted.

Alaster felt another rumble through his back.

Nasty hesitated. 'Did you just skakking fart or something?' he asked.

The lights went off. The room was plunged into abrupt darkness.

'Oh skak,' Alaster said. 'The cogitator-'

He didn't get to finish his sentence.

When Nasty had set the programmes to random, the cogitator had landed on one called 'Surprise'. It was called Surprise because it lulled the combatants into a false sense of security – the hall's environment remained in its bland and featureless default setting for a good few minutes before anything happened. But when it did, all hell would break loose. Surprise was a tough setting.

The sound Alaster and Nasty had heard and felt through the floor was a port in the wall opening. From it fountained a high-pressure jet of water, aimed squarely at the two Space Marines. It sprayed through the air with a deafening roar.

Overhead, a flash of light strobed. Alaster caught an instant's glimpse of the fat plume of water as it bore down on them.

The jet crashed into Alaster and Nasty, sending them skidding away across the floor. Water sprayed everywhere. Overhead, the four floating lamps were moving round in an elaborate and confusing gyre. Light was back, unreliable multicolour flarings. It was meant to be as disorienting as possible. Just like a real battlefield.

Underneath the floor, powerful shock-generators rumbled into life. The floor pitched and jerked, as if shaking from some vast explosion. In sync to the convulsion, the lights flared.

Alaster was just trying to scramble to his feet when the floor threw him.

He just managed to turn his tumble into an injury-sparing roll. He skidded on the wet metal as he tried to reach his feet. To his side he saw a flare of light. He thought for a moment it was the door, but it couldn't be. They still had another twenty minutes to go!

Alaster shook his head, trying to focus on matters at hand. Where had Nasty gone? Just because the room had turned against them, it didn't mean he could neglect the fight.

Speakers in the walls let loose an ear-splitting howl, a ululating electronic squeal modelled on an air-raid siren. The floor convulsed again. This time Alaster caught himself, managing not to fall. He looked around – over there! In amongst the flaring lights he saw the distinctive shape of another Space Marine.

He stepped forward with determination, blade held out in front of him with both hands on the hilt.

Something gurgled near his foot.

Alaster looked down. Little apertures had irised open all over the floor. A transparent liquid was bubbling out. Puddles were spreading around all the stumpy little fountains. Something about its glassy texture suggested it wasn't water.

The edge of the puddle reached one of his boots. Alaster prodded it. The puddle was slippery. Some sort of oil, he realised. The floor was being lubricated. That was going to make combat footwork interesting!

He took a breath, releasing it carefully. Something else caught his eye. As the exhalation left his respirator mask, he noticed it had started steaming. A quick look at his suit's displays confirmed his suspicion – the temperature inside the chamber was tumbling downwards. It was already at five degrees – no, four – no, three – no, two…

Powerful heat-exchangers in the walls were doing their job. The room's thermal energy was being drained out. The temperature plunged past the freezing point. Suddenly the air filled with an explosion of mist, as it cooled below the point that could support water vapour. The strobing lights up above were wreathed in glowing misty haloes. Rays of light streamed through the sudden fog.

Nasty's silhouette was lost amongst the mistiness.

Little patches of ice had formed over Alaster's suit. Smudges of water, leftover from the jet. They had frozen solid. Alaster flexed his fingers. The ice crackled as its segments split and broke up. A sparkling shower of ice crystals fell away.

The gurgling was fading. Looking down, he saw the fountains fade and gutter away. The floor was now covered in a uniform, two-inch deep pool of oil. That, of course, was unfrozen. Alaster glanced at his displays. The temperature was now an arctic minus thirty. Even as he looked, the fog was changing character – the air was much too cold even for fog. It was giving way to a shimmering mist. The water was freezing into tiny ice crystals, drifting in the air currents. They sparkled as they caught the light. That light had taken on a sharp, actinic blue edge. In addition there were now the deep-post-violet colours, the ones you only saw when there was a lot of ultraviolet light. And the light was steady and bright – the strobing had stopped. The lamps were modelling a star so hot and bright it would be beyond any place where humans could live, a star so hot that most of its output would be in the ultraviolet.

Alaster briefly wondered what planet this was supposed to represent. Somewhere very silly, he supposed. A xeno world, possibly. A planet with an overluminous, glaring blue sun, but a planet so far away from said sun that there were still freezing temperatures.

Carefully, he stepped forward. Oh yes, also a planet a couple of inches deep in lubricant. Oil sloshed around him. It was detailed simulation, but hardly a realistic one! His foot slipped a little on the decking but he managed to find his balance. He looked around for Nasty – there! There was a hint of a shape, seen through the glittering violet-tinted crystal mist.

Alaster started forward.

He got no further than a few paces when Surprise struck again.

With a rumble, another port opened in the wall. With another roar, another jet of water fountained out. It smacked straight into Alaster's side, bowling him over. The world morphed into a tumbling blur of water and light. Oil splashed everywhere.

As suddenly as it appeared, the fountain stopped.

Alaster struggled to get to his feet. He slipped and fell over, the slick decking sliding away beneath his boots. On a second attempt he made it up.

But something felt odd about his right arm.

He looked down. His right side been facing the jet. It had been sprayed with water. There was a crust of ice all over it! In the freezing air the water had flash-frozen as soon as it stopped moving!

He looked down. Chunks of ice were sat here and there on top of the oil. The footing was now doubly treacherous.

He looked up again, just in time to catch a clear view of Nasty. Nasty was moving carefully toward him. He kept stopping to look down, checking his path.

The fight couldn't wait. Alaster moved forward. His steps were accompanied by a sloshing of oil and a tinkling of ice as each step sent fragments cracking away.

He and Nasty had closed half the distance between them when Surprise gave its final surprise.

All the ports in the walls opened. Dozens of plumes of water sprayed in. The deluge thundered down on all sides. For the next minute or so, the only thing on Alaster's mind was trying not to get bowled over. Water sloshed, roared and sprayed everywhere.

After two deafening minutes, it fell quiet.

The chamber was now properly flooded. Alaster was up to his thighs in cold water. It was freezing rapidly. Even as he watched, ice was forming. And according to his displays, the temperature had dropped even further. Minus fifty, it announced.

The water had been filtered for extreme purity. This was to make it freeze even faster than it would normally. Within moments, miniature icebergs were forming everywhere. Oil and water being immiscible, the two had separated into two distinct layers. The denser but still liquid oil was at the bottom, with a crust of rapidly-freezing ice on top.

Alaster felt a constriction around his waist. Looking down he saw ice forming around him. He broke it up with the pommel of his sword. The ice crunched and fractured under each blow. He kept hammering at it. The key was to keep moving. He had no desire to be frozen in place. The chamber was filled with the groaning and crackling of the fast-forming icesheet. He noted that the siren-howl had stopped – thank goodness for that! The training hall was now ominously quiet.

Moments later, the ice in front of Alaster looked thick enough. He jumped up onto it. It bowed under him, but just about took his weight. His breath glittered with sudden ice-crystals as it passed beyond his respirator.

Behind him, the little circular hole he'd left behind quickly froze over.

Alaster looked around. The violet mist was gone now. Most of the crystals had fallen out of the air. And there was Nasty, over on the other side of the ice!

Alaster started toward the other Space Marine, filled with determination. Time to finish this properly! He would have to be careful – he figured he had the measure of the ice-trap here. One misstep, one too-heavy fall, and he would break through to the oil below. Oil and ice would be a bad mix. His feet were slippery enough on the ice crust as it was.

The walls of the chamber were marked with tracks of ice, leading to all of the now-closed ports. The last dribbles of water had frozen on the walls. The crystal streaks glittered in the harsh blue light.

Alaster was halfway to Nasty when Nasty stopped. 'Hey!' Nasty said.

Alaster ignored it. He kept walking. He brought his sword up. It too was streaked with ice. Droplets of water had frozen into miniature icicles hanging off of the teeth of the blade. Alaster readied himself to drop into a stance – Iron Door, he decided. It was a risky stance, but if he could get Nasty to attack before he was ready again, maybe he could end this quickly.

Alaster's eye was caught by a movement. He looked down. He had a moment's complete bafflement as an impossible second shadow appeared next to him. But Nasty was over there!

A quick glance up revealed that Nasty was still over there.

What? There was someone else here? Alaster began to turn. He remembered the sound and light he'd seen earlier, the thing he'd briefly thought was the door opening early.

He briefly caught a glimpse of the intruder. Blue shoulder-pads, grey trim, blue-black armour, a scowling helmet with red eye-lenses – another Raven! There was a blur of movement. Then the pommel of the intruder's chainsword smacked straight into Alaster's face.

The impact was enormous. He topped backward. He landed on the ice on his back, hi breath knocked out of him. And the impact was followed up by another one, this time straight underneath the edge of his shoulder pad. And that one really hurt! He gasped, as the shock jarred all the way up to his shoulder.

Spots danced in front of his eyes. He felt his hands spasm. With a clatter, the chainsword hit the ground. Confusedly, he reached for it-

KO

Bright red letters blinked in front of his eyes. Alaster stared, in shock. Knocked out! The cogitator had decided he'd taken what would be a fatal blow in real combat. Knocked out!

There was a crunch. Alaster saw a blue-black boot land on his blade, pinning it onto the ice.

'You'll get another turn later,' Kodos's voice informed him. 'Consider this a lesson in situational awareness.'

Alaster dragged himself to a sitting position. His shoulder still hurt, and he was becoming aware of the pain of a load of bruises over his body. 'Sergeant!' he said. 'I didn't know you'd be here.'

'I overrode the programming.' Kodos gestured to the door. He wasn't wearing his helmet – it was clipped to his belt. His breath steamed then sparkled in the frigid air. He showed no sign of being bothered by the icehouse temperatures or the ultraviolet glare. 'Figured you needed an extra surprise.'

'Well you took me down nicely,' Alaster said.

Kodos blinked, then laughed. 'Took you down? That wasn't me.'

Alaster stared. 'Then who-?'

Kodos pointed.

Alaster turned his head, just in time to see Nasty engage another Storm Raven. No – not another. This was the same one who'd taken Alaster down. Of course there were two intruders – his attacker had been wearing a helmet and Kodos wasn't!

Alaster watched in bafflement as the two other Space Marines sparred. It was a very short fight. Nasty was clearly rattled. And the other marine kept moving fast, almost seeming to counter Nasty's blows before they were quite begun. The other marine managed to pin Nasty's blade against his chest. Then the other marine somehow performed a throw on Nasty, sending him crashing into the ice, face-down.

Before Nasty had a chance to get up, he was knocked out with a savage thrust to the helmet.

'Two down,' Kodos noted. 'He's still skakking fast. And those martial-arts moves are as sharp as ever.'

That throw. Alaster had seen something similar like it before. Alaster frowned. The other marine turned to face them. He reached up and tugged his helmet off.

It revealed a freckled face and a neat mop of auburn hair. 'Hello, Alaster,' the other marine said. 'Umm. Sorry for dropping you like that.' He sounded genuinely contrite, too.

'Guess who,' Kodos said sardonically.

Alaster was feeling battered and bruised all over. His shoulder was still sore. He'd dropped his weapon. That would be bad enough but he'd allowed himself to be taken by surprise, which was a major omission for a Space Marine.

But right now, none of it mattered, because Patreus was back!


	57. Chapter 57 A Scent of Jasmine

'But what am I going to do? My rent's due next week!'

Doctor Leora paused near the door. It was ajar. The voices were coming from inside the ward. She could just see a bland white hospital curtain, suspended on a rail. The shadows of the speakers were cast against, stark in the sunlight streaming through a window. Their bodies were out of Leora's line of sight.

'I don't know,' the second voice said. 'I really don't know. Mine too! And I've got six hundred on a loan as well! And I got a letter from the bank. They're saying they might call them in! And I don't have the money.'

The first speaker swore at length. 'I don't know what to do!' she repeated herself. 'My landlord – I don't like him! He's not nice. He'll just throw me out. I'll lose my apartment! By the Emperor, I'm going to be _homeless_!'

The second speaker spoke in a tight, angry voice. 'I just don't know! What can we do? We're all getting screwed – people like you and me! And all the time those skakkers are sat there in the Assembly, lining their pockets!'

'It makes me so angry,' the first speaker said. She sounded angry, too – angry and on the edge of tears. 'I just want some skak-head patient to take a swing at me – you know, just so I can hit someone!'

Doctor Leora nodded to herself, smiling. She turned from the door and walked quietly away. The tense voices faded behind her.

She was in one of the corridors at the hospital where she worked. The walls were painted in bland, mediocre, institutional beige. They were meant to be soothing, to calm the distressed minds of patients. There was nothing calm about the place today. Under the glare of the striplights and amongst the pools of daylight pouring in through the windows, people were scurrying backwards and forwards. The halls were abuzz. They echoed with the sound of feet on the tiled floor and of many a frenetic conversation. Arms were waved in emphatic gesticulation and eyes glared with dilated pupils. In some cases, spittle even flew from angry lips.

Leora was just coming off shift. She walked down a flight of stairs and into the reception. It was a scene of barely-restrained chaos. A desperate and hopeless-looking man was huddled behind the Registrations desk. A crowd of angry members of the public had pooled around it. People were waving their arms and shouting, some of them not even at anyone in particular. The place was a hive of fury, fear and confusion. Potted plants huddled in the corners of the large room. Sullen people were sat scattered amongst the rows of seats in the waiting area. Up ahead, even more were coming in through the revolving door at the front of the hall.

Leora stopped by one of the rows of chairs. An abandoned slate was lying on it. She picked it up. It had a copy of the day's paper. She glanced at the headline:

_CHAOS IN THE ASSEMBLY_

_There were confused scenes in the Assembly today as Lennis Carea's attempt to form a caretaker ministry was rejected. Carea, the former Secretary to the Treasury in Shining Path's last government, was defeated 112 votes to 88. This brings a total of five failed attempts since ex-FM Yelessa's shock defeat last week…_

Chaos in the Assembly. How unintentionally-apt, Leora thought.

She put the slate back down and started off toward the door. It looked like Phelonas's strategy was working. Delta was in a state of complete turmoil. The unexpected decapitation of Yelessa's ministry had been met with a mix of confusion and derision. That response had quickly turned to fear as the full ramifications became apparent.

Leora was almost at the door when one of her colleagues caught her. It was Shanna Kyrastin, the senior proctologist. The woman looked dishevelled and hysterical, but then, she always looked dishevelled and hysterical. This time, though, she had an added air of edgy mania to her general untidiness. There was a nervous glint in her eyes and her mascara was smudged. Her doctor's robe was hanging half open, revealing a food-stained blouse underneath. Kyrastin didn't appear to be aware of either the loose robe or the prominent stain.

Leora couldn't help it. Her nose wrinkled. The low standards of some of her colleagues appalled her.

'It's a disaster! What are we going to do!' Kyrastin wailed.

Sensing a rhetorical question, Leora said nothing.

'If the Budget doesn't go through – what do I do!' Kyrastin wailed again.

'I don't know,' Leora said. 'Do you need to do anything?' She knew the answer, but decided to play along a little. She was curious to see just how far the hysteria had spread. Kyrastin was a pretty good barometer of the mood amongst the hospital staff – the senior proctologist just didn't have the imagination to go against the tide. 'I mean, the hospital is private. It's not like you're a civil servant or something.'

'But two thirds of our patients – they're on government programmes! You know that! And there won't be any money! And they're saying the Reserve is empty!'

The Strategic Reserve was supposed to be the medical partnership's back-up fund, established in case of emergency. In practise the hospital staff had been using it for years as a sort of slush-fund. Management hadn't objected – they too were busy with their own corrupt schemes. And suddenly now the Reserve was needed – only the staff had been shocked, _shocked!_ to discover that actually, it was pretty much bankrupt. Given that they'd bled it dry over the last decade or so, Leora didn't think they had any grounds for complaint.

The fund was like the planet, she thought cynically. There was probably about enough spare change left in each to get a quick cup of tea at the canteen. Certainly not much more than that!

She smiled brightly. 'I'm sure the Assembly will get its act together,' she said with deliberately-bogus confidence. 'I'm sure they'll get the Budget passed. I'm sure they'll start paying salaries again. How could anyone let this last?'

How could anyone continue to place ego and runaway self-interest ahead of everyone else they knew – except a corrupt apparatchik of the Imperial system? And oh, what was in the Assembly aside from corrupt Imperial apparatchiks?

It seemed that Kyrastin had sensed the same conclusion. 'The hospital's frozen pay!' she wailed. It was true – with an empty Reserve and two thirds less cash coming in, the only way the partnership could prevent immediate bankruptcy was to 'suspend' salary payments. They could do that under Octalian law, as long as they undertook to pay back the difference at the end of the 'crisis'.

'Oh dear,' Leora said with false sympathy. 'And of course under the Rents and Mortgages Act, we all have to pay fortnightly, don't we? I do hope you're not due this fortnight.'

There were tears in the corners of Kyrastin's eyes. Clearly she was due this fortnight. Leora was tempted to suggest that perhaps her colleague could fob the bank off with a kidney. She only needed one, right? Actually, given the way the woman drunk, one was probably all she had left by now.

Shanna Kyrastin, Leora knew for a fact, had only been able to buy her current house because she'd quietly filched six thousand crowns out of the Reserve. She'd been quite crafty about it – she'd done it carefully, spread over two years. She'd thought no-one had noticed. She'd had the office next to Leora's at that point. Leora had become suspicious when she noticed her colleague had started pulling long hours. Leora's own long hours had been for less than noble motives – she'd been quietly digging her way through the murkier parts of the planetary network, a half-formed idea of violence and insurrection at the back of her grief-damaged mind. It was during those same long, late hours that she had first stumbled across Phelonas, although she'd had no notion what or whom he was at that stage.

Kyrastin's nervous presence late at night in the other office had complicated things. First of all, Leora had thought Kyrastin was onto her – she seemed an unlikely agent for the secret police, but stranger things had happened. (Could a putative medical professional actually genuinely be that incompetent?) Leora had shadowed Kyrastin on one of her late-night jaunts – and had been darkly amused to discover than it terminated at the vault in the cellar containing the bullion of the Reserve. Kyrastin had never suspected a thing, but from then on Leora had started keeping records.

'Anyway,' she said, smiling brightly at her colleague, 'I'm sure your banker husband can sort everything out! Now might be the time! Give him a call!'

Kyrastin's face spasmed as Leora gave the knife that final little twist. She'd been nauseatingly vocal about her whirlwind romance to Arman the banker – she'd never missed that little detail, eager to loudly-remind everyone just how much money her new beau had. And then the new relationship had lasted all of six months – Arman had screwed up once too often at work. He'd been caught up in the meltdown of the Gamman market crash, and the bank had sacked him. Once his copious wealth drained away, the marriage had collapsed. Leora had heard many scurrilous rumours – alcohol, drugs and prostitutes. It seemed Arman had taken his sacking hard. Kyrastin had been vocal during the marriage, and she had been equally, obnoxiously-vocal during the separation.

And Leora had no sympathy for either of them. As far as she was concerned, they deserved each other. Leora didn't believe in the supposed fiery Hell below, but she certainly did believe in the Hell that other people could be sometimes.

She pushed past Kyrastin, who was now in tears. She left her weeping, wailing colleague behind, half-running to the door.

Moments later, she was outside in the lemon-tinted sunshine. It was actually a lovely day in this part of Delta. It felt so much better to be outside. Leora strode away from the hospital, shoe-heels clicking loudly on the pavement.

In its own way, she felt, the hospital was a microcosm of Imperial society. At least in theory, it actually had a genuine purpose – but it failed that purpose at every turn. It was run by maniacs. It was staffed by corrupt incompetents. It was infested with idiot priests and their empty rituals. And its halls were filled with the sick and the wounded, human casualties of an inhumanly-brutal system.

She was glad to be out of it.

Leora flagged down a cab. The driver was initially surly, but became rather less so when she showed him a couple of Octalian ten-crown notes. Suddenly nothing was too much trouble. Moments later she was sat in the back of the air conditioned cab, leaning back on the leather seat, in the relative quiet of the back of the car. The streets and houses of the city passed in a blur.

The cab wound its way through Creekside's congested traffic. The city had been promised a new through-road to ease congestion. Like many of the Assembly's promises, it had never quite materialised. Apparently it was still three years away from being built. It had been three years away three years ago, and it would probably still be three years away in three years' time. However, the planning process had already sucked up more than eighteen million crowns – one of the city's newspapers had been keeping a running 'corruption count'. Eighteen million crowns, and they hadn't even managed to dig a single hole yet. Leora scowled as she considered this. She scowled even more while they were sitting in one of the city's notorious traffic jams.

But, half an hour later, the cab wound its way up a steeply-sloped street. Wan sunshine shone down over the curb. It was quieter here. They were higher up and the air was fresher. Leora got out of the can after paying the driver. He sped off.

She looked around. On one side, the street was residential. A quiet row of houses, middle-class and moderately affluent. Cars were parked in front of them. On the other side of the road, the one she was stood on, a low stone wall ran alongside the curb. Iron railings topped it. There was a dense hedge on the other side.

Leora followed it along until she reached the gate. For a moment she hesitated. She strained her ears, listening. She could hear the sound of traffic in the distance, a faint moan of wind and the cawing of some birds. Other than that, all was quiet.

She nodded to herself, relieved. Coming here was a risk, but she felt she had to. She put her hand on the gate. She pushed on it. She winced as the rusty hinges creaked.

Moments later, she walked into Rose Heights Cemetery.

On the other side of the hedge some flowers were blooming. They cast a faint, jasmine scent into the air. Their petals were a sombre white; they were some Octalian native species. On impulse, Leora twisted one of the flowers free. She looked at it. The torn stem was ragged but the flower itself was undamaged. It would do.

She walked into the cemetery.

Rose Heights was on the south-facing slope of a hill. On this side of the river, the land was rising. The cemetery had a clear view down over the rest of Creekside. You could see everything – the towers of the business district, many church spires, houses, busy roads, even the silvery snaking line that was the river itself. The river was gleaming in the sunlight, like a trail of mercury.

All around Leora, on all sides, were headstones. They were lined up in no clear order amongst the grass. Leora walked slowly, picking her way through the jumbled assortment of tombs, stelae and funary obelisks. Stone gargoyles leered at her with blind eyes. Gothic inscriptions flowed under the moss and lichen, paens to lost husbands, wives, children and friends. On many of them Imperial eagles glared belligerently out, as if resenting Leora's heathen intrusion. She glowered back, even though she knew the stone was lifeless and unaware.

At last, she came to one particular tombstone. It was smaller and newer than many of the others – the people who had paid for it couldn't afford the elaborate temples to grief that some people had erected in this place.

It was a tomb Leora knew well.

She stood in front of it, silent. She stared at the cold stone. The wind sighed around her. The grass stirred near her feet. The scent of jasmine from the flowers was in the air. Overhead she heard a bird cry, a faint ululation.

She looked at the stone and swallowed. 'I – I-' she began and trailed off. She took a breath. 'I still miss you. I'm sorry.'

The headstone was for her son. He had been dead for twenty years, but every day burned just like the first.

She knelt down awkwardly, lowering the flower to the grass in front of the carved marble. 'I brought you this,' she said. 'I remember you liked the ones we had in the garden. I remember you brought me one, once. Asked me what it was.'

Overhead, the bird cawed.

She reached out to the stone, running her fingers over it. She felt the cold, smooth rock. It was black marble, polished to an icy shine. It wasn't as opulent as many of the other tombs here, but this had been the best she could afford.

'Your father would be here if he could,' she lied, speaking to the stone. 'He wouldn't miss this. But I don't know where he is.'

That wasn't true. Her husband had been dead for nineteen and a half years. He'd lasted only six months, after the black news. It had been a race between liver failure and drunken accident. Drunken accident had won. Late on one alcohol-sodden night, he'd fallen in the river and not come out again. Like her, he'd taken the death hard. Drink had given him a relief of sorts.

The wind rustled her clothes, carrying the jasmine with it.

She became aware that she was crying. She could feel water on her cheeks. Through the blurry tears, she could see the flower, lying there, pale and cold.

She had a vision of her son, the same age as she'd last seen him, except lying somewhere, pale, cold and broken like the flower. This was the strange thing – there was tombstone, but no body. The body had never been returned. She didn't even know precisely how, where or when her son had died. All she knew had come in that life-shattering phone call, twenty years ago.

She remembered with bitterness, how proud they'd all felt when he'd been Selected. She remembered the awed looks of everyone at work. Their colleague's son, maybe a Storm Raven! For a couple of weeks, she'd walked on air. They'd even got on the local news, interviewed for the token positive slot at the end. She remembered the cameras and the nice man from the news company and the camera crew, all of them seeming awed to meet her and her husband. She remembered faking modesty and gushing for the camera. She remembered how golden it had all felt. Like anything was possible, and the world was all roses.

What a naïve fool she'd been.

She breathed deeply, trying to steady herself. No body. This was the thing. She'd never even had the closure of a funeral. She didn't even know what the Ravens had done with - with the remains. She'd heard all sorts of stories about what Space Marines did with bodies. And since she'd known Phelonas, some of them had taken on a grim degree of possibility.

But no. She wasn't even going to let herself think about _that_.

The bird cawed again. This time the sound reminded her of the phone ringing. She remembered it sitting there on the stand in the hallway, like a sort of plastic grenade, waiting to explode in her hand.

She remembered picking it up – cool, smooth plastic, heavy in her hand – and speaking into it. She remembered the crackle of static on the line, and then the voice.

She remembered the confusion – surely there was some mistake? It couldn't be _her_ son that was dead! Then she remembered the anger – this wasn't possible! This must be a prank! How could they have let this happen? Then she remembered the need to _know_, the desperate search to learn all she could, a search that had met with a wall of silence. No-one would answer her queries, no-one would return her calls, no –one would write her. Then she recalled the growing sense of horror and hollowness, a growing need to do something, anything, even just speak!

And she recalled the callous vacuity of her colleagues and her so-called friends.

She stood there in the sunshine, staring into the clear sky. Her hair stirred in the breeze. At first that was all she had wanted. Just to be able to talk, to tell her story. To have someone listen like she was another human being, maybe give her a shoulder to cry on. But no – there was no room for common humanity in the system! _Sacrifices Had To Be Made_, she was repeatedly told. Sacrifice this, sacrifice that – sacrifice your happiness, your future, even your firstborn – and it still wasn't enough! Still more sacrifice was demanded, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of a human being, an automaton mindless acting out a façade of life.

The desperate need to talk had been stifled. Her hopes had crumbled. She remembered the darkness that followed. The colour had bled from her life, all meaning and texture fleeing from her. So many times she had thought about ending it, following her son and then her husband into the nothingness.

And then finally, it had nearly happened. She remembered going to the river, late one night, determined to throw herself in. She remembered standing there, staring at the cold, limpid black water. She remembered the small, broken reflection of the Moon on the water. She remembered the silence of night and her breathing, ragged, lonely and cold. No-one else was there, she was alone in the world - what else was there left to live for? The black water had looked inviting, cool and soothing. She had readied herself for a final spring.

And then she'd heard the bells of the church, ringing out midnight.

She'd looked up, straight across the water, to the glided spire on the far side. She'd looked over the ornate carvings - saints and demons, gargoyles and angels. All gleaming softly in the moonlight. And then it had struck her. In a flash, she had felt the purest, hottest flame of hate in all her life. For the first time in months, she had felt something other than black depression. It had raced through her like a fire, bringing back a strange new sort of life with it.

And in that moment, she'd known what she wanted to do. She wanted to silence those bells forever. She wanted to rip them down, smash them, crush them. She wanted to grind them to dust, to damn their memory. She wanted to strike back. She wanted revenge on the people and the system that had wronged her.

So on that occasion, that pivotal moment, she'd chosen not to die. That little flame of hate had given her energy. She'd walked back to town. The next day, she'd faked her own death - a carefully-rigged gas explosion at the house – and she'd walked to the next city, travelling quietly amongst the fields and hedges, not risking the chance of being recognised on train or bus or road. When she'd got there, she'd visited a shady establishment she'd heard rumours about. That was where she'd acquired her identity as Doctor Leora. It had cost money, but she'd had some cash sat spare. She had been a doctor before, but Leora wasn't her birth name.

She'd begun a new life, nursing her secret hatred. New life, new job, new start – new plan. And ever since, she'd been quietly working her way forward.

Once more, the bird above cawed. She looked up at it. It was little more than a speck, flying on its outstretched wings. She watched it circling high above. She felt a piercing envy of its freedom. It lived in a world without pain, without cruelty, a world that didn't need hate or love. At that instant, she wanted nothing more than to simply sprout wings and soar away, abandoning the pain-filled world beneath.

One thing life had taught Leora, though, was that wishes were worthless.

She lingered for a short time more in the afternoon sunshine. Finally, though, she acknowledged that it was time to leave. Resolute, her tears dried and her face composed, she turned and walked away. She walked back amongst the headstones, to the gate and she left the jasmine-scented garden.

She left the flower, alone with the headstone. Somehow, she suspected this would be her final visit to this place.

On leaving the cemetery, she walked several streets, just to cover her tracks. Then she dug out her own slate, looked up her location and called a taxi. It arrived shortly after. Once more, she found herself settled on the back seat of a cab. They set off, journeying across the city, to the train station.

At one point they were held up for several minutes. A spontaneous demonstration had erupted outside the offices of the Urban Administration. Public-sector workers, unpaid for more than a week now and faced with another week of empty piggy banks. Only this week, many of them would be facing rent and mortgage payments that they very possibly couldn't afford.

Leora watched the shifting, angry crowd with fascination. Anger! It was good to see it, at last. Anger at corruption, anger at waste – anger, even, at the system itself! Finally, some dissent. Some open, public dissent. Even through the window of the cab Leora could feel the electric atmosphere beyond. Chanting, furious people. Placards. Shouts and catcalls. There were even some broken windows on the Administration building!

Then the car growled back into life. The crowd had surged, briefly freeing a road. Moments later they were speeding up the hillside the road lay on. Leora craned her neck, staring at the wonderful view behind. Sadly there were not yet any lazy columns of smoke drifting into the city's sky – but give it time!

So far in Creekside there hadn't been so much unrest, at least compared to the rest of the continent. The city was more affluent than most places – people had more savings. There was tension, but not yet the explosions of violence seen in some of the provincial towns. Just last night Leora had watched delightful news-footage from the East Coast – in one of the towns down there, a mob had stormed the offices of the local branch of the Faithful Road Party. They'd set it alight. Leora had watched the long, red flames licking up the sides of the grand building. It had been a joyous spectacle! The people, burning the luxurious toys of their hapless oppressors.

She was aware of Phelonas's scheme, of course. He'd told her at least the bare bones of it. Privately, she didn't entirely agree with his analysis. She couldn't see the events here on this planet triggering an Exterminatus. That would have to be done by the same Inquisition that had legalised the Originists. A house divided against itself couldn't take decisive action – at least, not in time to influence things. Leora had her own theory.

This, she thought, could be the spark.

This could be the spark that lit the bonfire. In her mind, she could see it – she could see the fires rising up and spreading out from this world, engulfing its neighbours, spreading across the Sector. She imagined the entire Sector, blazing with the bonfire-light of revolution. And from there – who knew? It was easier for a fire to grow than to gutter. Who knew how far it would spread? She had even entertained fantasies of her secular revolution, spreading all the way to the gates of Terra themselves. She felt tense with excitement. Every day brought a new sense of anticipation. This could be the end – she was sure of it! This could be the fall of the hateful Imperium!

And better yet, its collapse would destroy the disgusting Storm Ravens.

As for Phelonas – well, something would need doing about him eventually, of that Leora was sure. But the banks were calling in their loans. Hungry people were rioting in the streets. Party offices were ablaze. A revolution was on its way. Arranging an accident for one Traitor-Marine couldn't be that difficult amongst all that tumult! Leora felt no fear – there was no great rush. There was plenty of time to make arrangements. Something would suggest itself.

The cab screeched to a halt outside the station shortly afterward. Leora paid the driver, then went into the waiting room. She bought a ticket and went to the platform. A few minutes later, she was on the relevant train.

And at last, she was doing something! She was closer to her revenge now -she could feel it. The more she considered it, the more she felt her mood begin to change. As she sat down on the scratchy fabric of the seat, the mad doctor was smiling. She felt genuinely happy, for the first time in years. Just as the traceries of smoke rose elsewhere on the continent, she could feel a shadow lifting from her soul.

Her revenge, against the people and the system that had wronged her, it was imminent. And it felt good. For the first time in an age, Leora felt alive!

She smiled brightly at one of the other passengers. The man looked faintly disturbed, as if he sensed something not quite right in her smile. He quickly looked back down at his slate.

The train journey and a short walk later, she found herself in front of a familiar townhouse. A familiar set of steps ran up to a familiar door, coloured in weathered and peeling paint. The building had once boasted a grand façade but now the entire structure had a faded air to it, as if it knew its glory days were long in the past. How apt – a visual metaphor for the decrepitude of the rotting Imperium!

Beaming like a maniac, Leora let herself in.

She made her way upstairs. She passed a few of the Originists, still clinging cluelessly to their hiding-place despite their current legal status. Dull and incurious eyes barely registered her presence. Minds made stupid by an excess of faith, they had long since relegated her to little more than a part of the furniture. The demotion was deeply demeaning but also somewhat convenient. She breathed deeply, noting the familiar musty scent of this building. Did they ever open the windows – or was fresh air unImperial too?

On one thing, she agreed entirely with Phelonas. These people were stupid, filthy scum, and they deserved to be used like the animals they were. Even thinking about them was enough to make her shudder in contempt.

As she made her way upstairs, treads creaking underneath her, the sounds and scents of human presence receded. At the top floor landing, she was on her own. The only evidence of other people were the echoes rising from downstairs.

She glanced at the door on the other side of the landing. The one that had been the boy's room. Its door had been taped off. Briefly she wondered what had happened to the body. Then she dismissed the thought from her mind. It wasn't relevant to the matter at hand.

She turned to the other door. It creaked as she opened it. She made her way up the bare wooden stairs, to the familiar attic.

She stopped at the door, then knocked, deliberately loud. 'It's me!' she said.

'Come in,' she heard Phelonas say.

She let herself in.

She closed the door behind her. She was now stood in the familiar attic, lit by the familiar bare bulb. 'Hello,' she said.

There was a _snick_ from over by the shelf. Phelonas was there. The skulls on his backpack-vents gleamed in the light. He had just slid a fresh magazine into his gun. 'There,' he said. 'That should do.' The sword was hung in its scabbard, at his side. Leora couldn't see any of the runes. Phelonas turned the gun over in his gauntleted hands, regarding it. 'How are things out there?' He slid it into the holster and looked at her.

'Tense,' she said. 'Wonderfully tense. The city's on edge. There's a mob growing outside of Administration. And everyone's running around like headless chickens at the hospital.'

It wasn't tense at Rose Heights. There had been, she thought, a certain degree of serenity there. It was a good place for her son's final memory.

'I take it you're not caught out?' Phelonas asked. 'Money-wise, I mean. That would be … inconvenient, right now.'

Leora shook her head. 'Me? Oh no. I have savings – I'm not a fool, unlike some.'

'And the Assembly only fans the flames,' Phelonas mused. 'What a lovely little quirk of law that is – they can't get a Budget passed, so no-one on the state payroll will get paid. Except Assemblymen, who get paid regardless. And it's just an extra little bit of salt to rub into the public's wounds.'

'Don't gloat any louder,' Leora said, 'or the entire skakking Sector will hear you!'

'It's a character flaw,' Phelonas acknowledged. 'I do so like it when a scheme starts coming together!'

'I take it there's no risk of – you know, the Assembly getting it together?'

'Oh, absolutely none. I've made sure of that. No new Ministry, no new caretaker administration, no new elections. A complete power vacuum. And the Raven Lord isn't here, so they don't even have a puppetmaster to pull their strings.'

'Has there been any more reaction from the Church?' she asked. They were an additional loose cannon. They could possibly motivate people to do something.

Phelonas shook his head. The horns on his helmet moved above him in the partial gloom. 'No. At least, not beyond the usual pulpit moralising. I don't think they have a clue what to do. They're confused by it all – both Faithful Road and Traditional Front claim holy motivations. But the Church doesn't have full control over either right now. And they won't have anything to do with Shining Path because apparently they're liberal. Whatever that actually means in this context.'

'The shutdown is the talk of the town,' Leora said. 'Everyone at the hospital was on about it. There were loads of people, trying to get appointments before their public-care money runs out. And all the staff are worried about losing their homes.'

'The economy is on a knife-edge now,' Phelonas remarked. 'A third of the population work for the government. When the Budget fails to get passed in time – then the ministries can't tax and can't borrow. No funding. No salaries. A third of the population, not knowing where the next meal's coming from. And the other two thirds – well, their businesses just lost a load of customers. Bankruptcy all round! And of course the off-world finance houses are getting really twitchy now. They weren't happy before, but this is too much.'

'Some people were talking about the banks calling in their loans.'

Phelonas nodded. 'They will. When the depositors start going hungry, they'll try to pull out their savings. The banks never have enough cash in-branch for that. Their assets are mostly invested in loans and so on. They'll have to call all of those in. Demand money now! But how many people can actually repay a loan, in full, upfront? Or businesses?'

'More bankruptcies,' she said.

'Oh yes. A run on the banks, a market crisis, mass home repossessions and no government! This is the paramount time. The planet is ready to tip over. It's ready for revolution now.'

'Yes,' she said. 'There's a lot of fear about.'

'Good,' Phelonas said. 'That's the plan.'

'I wouldn't be surprised if there's a riot in town by tonight,' Leora added.

'Even better. I like a bit of window-smashing.'

'So,' she said, 'when do we move? I assume that's why you asked me here.'

'Actually,' Phelonas said, 'we're going to get started today.'

'Really?' she asked.

'Well, this evening,' Phelonas said. 'I need you to hire a van.'

'What?' She blinked.

'Can you do that? By this evening?'

She considered it. 'Well I suppose. But whatever for?'

'We'll be going on a little journey,' the Chaos Marine explained.

'Us?' she asked. 'To do what?'

'First, a bit of ritual sacrifice,' Phelonas said. 'What have in mind needs blood. And not just any blood, unfortunately. Or fortunately, perhaps, from your point of view.'

Suddenly her breath caught in her throat. A sharp, hate-fired excitement grew inside her. She leaned forward. 'You mean…?'

The Chaos Marine nodded. 'Yes. A Raven.'

'That's possible?'

'Oh yes. I have a plan.'

'And then what?' she asked. 'What does this sacrifice lead to? You can't just be taking a risk like that to keep me on side.'

Phelonas nodded. 'Then we'll be going on another trip.'

She frowned. 'Where to?'

Cryptic as ever, Phelonas said, 'Somewhere further than you imagine. Perhaps somewhere further than you _can_ imagine.'


	58. Chapter 58 A Traitor's Thesis

'So just where exactly are we going?' Leora said.

She was sat on a bench in the back of the van. A single cushion padded out the metal seat. She'd swiped the cushion from a chair in an empty room in the safehouse. She'd taken one look at the van's Spartan interior and had decided she wasn't sitting on that bare bench for several hours.

Phelonas was stood – not sat – on the opposite side of the compartment. The van rumbled and swayed as it drove, listing as it took corners, but Phelonas remained calmly poised at all times. His balance seemed steady as a rock.

'It's near Serenade Falls,' he said.

'Never heard of it,' Leora replied.

'It's a waterfall in the south,' Phelonas said. 'It's inside one of the Ravens' training grounds. Temperate woodland, with hills and some low mountains. It's miles from anywhere – no towns or cities anywhere nearby.'

'And this van is going to get in there?' she asked. The van's engine rumbled through the walls around them. They were shaken by randomly-spaced jolts as the van passed over disturbances on the road below. The sound of traffic filtered weakly through the metal walls. The main source of light was the square skylight in the roof of the van. Murky daylight filtered in through the dirty square of translucent plastic.

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'There are tracks, here and there. They have to get supplies and materials in and out. It's no entirely unaccessible. I have the maps.'

'And your zombie Originist up front? He'll just keep driving the whole way?'

Phelonas's horned helmet nodded. The tips of the horns were only just shy of the roof. If they hit a particularly big bump, Leora wondered if the ceiling would acquire two odd puncture marks. 'We'll need to stop and feed and water it,' he remarked, 'I reckon in four or five hours' time. Possibly a short rest might be in order too. And we'll need to do that again four or five hours later. I reckon about fourteen hours in total for this part of the trip. The Originist – the zombie, as you put it – he won't cause any trouble. His mind is entirely focused on driving. I have them well-trained now.'

'This is the paramount time,' Leora said. 'Can we really afford to be away for more than a dozen hours?' She took a deep breath. The interior of the van smelt a little of fresh paint. Several hours of that wouldn't be pleasant!

'We have to be,' Phelonas said. 'This is no silly side-trip. This is crucial to our endeavours.'

'And how can you be sure there'll be some Ravens?'

'A small training detachment, most likely,' Phelonas said. 'There's an active plane-spotting community on this continent. They're particularly obsessed with anything that might be military. And particularly anything flying the Ravens' colours.'

'So some Octalians are sad military fantasists,' Leora said. 'So what? I could've told you that yesterday.'

'They log the times of flights,' Phelonas said, 'and the tail numbers, when they can see them. I keep an eye on one of their sites. And sure enough, they noticed a Thunderhawk heading in the direction of Serenade Falls yesterday. It stopped to refuel at Lacona Bay, and a marine and some trainees got off for a short while. They did some circuits around the air field, before it took off again. Then it headed off toward Serenade Falls. Later on, it came back and refuelled again. This time, no-one except the crew got off.'

'How can you know it was Serenade Falls?'

'By simple logic,' Phelonas replied. 'The time it took from and to Lacona was just enough to get to Serenade and come back. And two, the park is woodland. Serenade Falls is near the only big bit of treeless ground in that area – the only place really suited to a Thunderhawk landing. There's simply nowhere else they could have gone.'

She nodded slowly. 'I see. So they'll be somewhere near the falls?'

'They _are_ near the Falls,' Phelonas said.

'You seem awfully sure of that.'

He rested a gauntleted hand on the hilt of his sword. 'I made a small offering to the daemon. A few drops of my own blood. It showed me where they were – a camp in the shadow of the waterfall itself. They'll be there.'

She looked reluctant but convinced. 'Okay, I accept your reasoning – provisionally! I shan't argue with your daemonic friend, and I'm certainly not arguing with planespotters. But tell me again – why both of us?'

'I need to open a portal,' Phelonas said. 'A powerful portal. It needs a high-value sacrifice. A Space Marine would do.'

'A portal to where?' she asked.

'A place where we can get some reinforcements,' Phelonas said. 'Chaos Marine reinforcements, I mean.'

She lifted an eyebrow. Then they were both jolted as the van hit a particularly-big pothole. 'Ouch,' she said. The van rattled around them. Some loose item clanged loose over near the doors. 'Chaos Marines?'

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'Seeing the Originists up close, in large numbers – they're weaker than I'd accounted for. Apparently they have all sorts of weird dietary taboos as well. And they have trouble getting healthcare or even employment. Send them on their own against the Ravens – even all several hundred thousand of them…' He shook his head. 'They'll be very zealous, I'm sure, but they'll also soon be very dead. And if we don't manage to break into the Ravenholme, our plan falls apart.'

Leora looked at the closed doors at the back of the compartment. 'You mean the guns,' she said. 'The anti-ship guns.'

The van rattled over a rougher bit of the road. The interior swayed and shuddered.

'Exactly. If we can't hold the fleet up as it arrives then things will come unstuck very quickly. We need to get in there, and fast. I doubt we can take the whole structure – probably not even more than part of it. But we need all we can get.'

'So,' she said, 'Chaos Marines. And how are the Originists going to react to that?'

'They don't really matter,' Phelonas said. 'The marines will be the core of the assault. The Originists – at this stage, they're really only there to confuse the gunners on the Ravenholme. And to cause trouble in the cities. I don't really expect much tactically-useful activity out of them.'

'That's a change of plan,' she said.

'The Ravens are coming to roost sooner than expected,' he said. 'I'm not an Imperialist. I deal in facts, not faith-filled fantasies. A change in the situation on the ground requires a change of tack.'

'So,' she said, 'what do you need me for? I mean, if you're just having a chat with your friends…'

There was a pause. Leora realised she'd said something wrong.

Phelonas twitched. She noticed one of his hands clench and unclench. There was a spasmodic character to the motion. A moment later, a long hissing noise grated out of his helmet. In a tense, angry voice, he said, 'They and I are certainly not – certainly not! – _friends_.'

He spoke the word as if it were an obscenity.

Another moment passed. A sense of imminent violence hung over Phelonas. Then he straightened up. Looking down, he brushed a speck of dust off of the pommel of his sword. He spoke again, his tone of voice now calm and incisive. 'The place we're going to is called the Mahaal.'

'The Mahaal,' she said, rolling the unfamiliar phonemes over her tongue.

'Its war-lord,' Phelonas said, 'is an unreconstructed thug who calls himself Tarrak, Lord of the Bloodtakers. He presides over an assorted rabble of scum, sycophants and violence-hungry maniacs. The Mahaal is now his domain – his fortress. And the idea of going to him for help burns, quite frankly.'

'I get the impression,' she said, 'that you don't like this Tarrak person.'

'I remember him back when we found him,' Phelonas said. 'He's from Korril's Hell. It's a barely-habitable rock near the Eastern Fringes. A thin atmosphere, a little water and a lot of desert. And a too-hot, too-bright sun. Sunshine that blinds and the UV to match. It's not a nice place. But a few thousand years ago, some dumb Imperial monks thought it was a good place to go to cleanse their souls.'

'What have Imperial monks got to do with this Tarrak person?' she asked.

'Simple - their silly hairshirt colony collapsed. The planet was too marginal and like all Imperials, they relied on prayer rather than planning. But there were some survivors. They roam the deserts to this day – just degenerate savages, living savage and empty lives. Tarrak was one of them. Just another inbred, bloodthirsty borderline-animal. I was travelling with an army at that point – the former Legion, you know. They stopped on Korril's Rock, for some sport. And one of the lords of our host saw the little thug doing his violent, stupid thing. And was impressed by it. The little thug got himself recruited. By some joke of the Chaos Powers, he survived the geneseeding process. And he's never looked back since.'

Phelonas suddenly seemed to feel a need to move. He stomped up and down the small interior of the van, the floor wobbling under his boot-treads. For the first time, Leora noticed something – the design on Phelonas's other shoulder pad, the one not marked by a silver Chaos star. She noticed the design of triplicate green snakes and wondered for a moment what it signified.

'My fellow Legionaries,' Phelonas continued, 'have had all sorts of oddball ideas. Frankly I think they were all crazy long before the Heresy. It's partly why I have little to do with them nowadays. But inducting Tarrak had to be the nadir.'

'You don't like him at all,' she noted.

'He despises knowledge,' Phelonas said. 'And he despises the people who have them. He despises them, of course, because they can see him for the pathetic, empty travesty that he is. I loathe him because, essentially, I'm everything he's not. His pocket army, the Bloodtakers – he makes them all dedicate themselves to Khorne. But not him, oh no. I'll give him that much. He's wily enough not to sell himself entirely to his supposed patron – or perhaps cowardly enough. He's tricked them into thinking he has a direct line to the Blood God – they go out and kill on his demand, bring him skulls and venerate him. His ego gets massaged and he gets to feel important.' Phelonas shuddered. Leora noted that he had his hand on the pommel of his sword. Did he realise he was doing that? 'He's a loathsome little toad.'

Leora took a guess. 'You want him and the Ravens to kill each other?'

'He has something that's mine,' Phelonas replied. He did not, she noticed, contradict her question. 'I built the Mahaal. There's no way a blood-soaked fool could make something like that. Only he somehow found out about it. I came back from a long journey – and I found he'd occupied it!'

'So,' she said, 'why do you think he'll let you in now?'

'Vanity,' Phelonas said. 'The dumb thug's ego matches his stupidity. He'd like to humiliate me in front of his host.'

'And you plan to _recruit_ this person?'

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'I have some bait he can't resist.'

'And what would that be?'

'A chance to kill Space Marines. In large numbers. He might turn that chance down – but the Bloodtakers won't. And he wouldn't dare refuse in front of his army. Turn down a chance to kill? There goes that supposed direct line to Khorne! All I have to do is put our plan to him in front of the army, and he's mine.'

'But why would you want him?' she asked.

Phelonas took a deep breath. He let it out with a slow, angry rattle. 'For all of his other flaws – and they are many! – Tarrak is good at hitting things. And so are his troops. Better yet, fear just isn't in their nature. Nor, really, is self-interest. Berserkers make wonderful tools. Just point them at the enemy and let them go.'

'Why can't they do that by themselves?' she asked.

Phelonas laughed, a bitter, grating sound. 'Because he has a little problem. The power he's supposedly sworn himself to – Khorne – doesn't approve of sorcery. Or any of that clever stuff. Too much thinking, not enough killing. So oddly enough, Tarrak is dependant on the charity of others to get to battle. He has axes aplenty at his disposal, but no sorcerers. No-one to open portals for him. His ego made him steal the Mahaal, but in a way it trapped him!'

Leora frowned. 'Okay, now I'm lost. What about just having a ship?'

'The Mahaal,' Phelonas said, 'is a constructed Warp-realm. It's not a planet. It's a little pocket of stable reality, deep in the Warp. Well, stable-ish. It's been out of my hands for centuries now. It will certainly need some maintenance. He's cooped himself up there. And the people who use his services prefer to keep him that way. There's been a kind of quiet conspiracy to keep anything ship-like out of his hands. Well, maybe conspiracy is the wrong word. It's just that no-one who has a ship or a mobile portal – none of those people will let him get his hands on it. I'm sure it frustrates him no end.'

'I didn't realise Chaos Marines had internal politics,' Leora said.

'Everyone,' Phelonas said, 'has internal politics.'

'But – what will you need me for?'

'Two things. One, to explain our geneseed plot – the retrovirus – preferably in words of two syllables or less. And two, to give me the occasional discreet kick.'

'_Kick_ you?'

'Yes. Anywhere on the shin will do fine. You don't have to do it hard – I'll notice it regardless. And you needn't concern yourself about doing me any damage.'

'You want me to kick you? Why?'

'I will want you to kick me,' Phelonas said, 'because if you don't remind me to behave myself, there is a good chance that Tarrak might manage to provoke me. You must understand, my dear Doctor, that I _despise_ that filthy little animal. And one of the merits of this scheme is that it might make him dead. But in the meantime, I will need reminding of civility!'

He twitched again. The van's engine growled in the background. Behind them, the closed doors rattled in their frame.

She nodded slowly. 'I see. So I get to be piggy in the middle while the Chaos Marines glower at each other. Phelonas, I'm not really feeling the warm and fuzzies about this one.'

'For the record,' Phelonas grated, 'nor. Am. I.'

Feeling the need to change the subject, Leora said, 'So – is this a step on the way to your greatest work of heresy?'

Phelonas stopped, as if startled. Then he laughed again. 'This? The Octalian scheme? This isn't my greatest work. Not even close!'

'What is, then?' she asked. Anything to keep him from ranting any more about this Tarrak person. He had been looking frighteningly unstable for a moment or two back then. She watched the skylight reflecting on the skulls on his backpack. Was it just her or did their fangs seems sharper today?

'I wrote a book,' Phelonas said.

Jerked back to reality by the unexpected remark, she blinked. 'You – uh, you what?'

'I. Wrote. A. Book,' Phelonas intoned. 'I am literate, you know.'

Despite herself, she was interested. 'What did you write a book on?'

'It was called _On Reason And Its Application_,' Phelonas said. 'It started with an introduction to basic logic and critical thinking. It moved onto some classic problems from philosophy – the trolley debate, the cave analogy, that sort of thing. At every step readers were encouraged to think for themselves and debate the sections with others. And all of it led up to the last chapter.'

'What was that?' she asked.

'It was a restatement of a rather old idea, except in a modern context,' Phelonas said. There was just a slight undertone of smugness to his voice.

'That being?' she said.

Somewhere outside, a car horn blared. The harsh sound was muffled a bit by the thin material of the sides of the van.

'Something called the Euphyro Dilemma,' Phelonas said. 'It's not a new idea. In fact, I think, it was first explicitly theorised about forty thousand years ago. In the age preceding electricity, in fact.'

'There was ever a time before electricity?' It was such a basic thing, and so widespread – it was hard to imagine a world without it. 'I suppose there must have been, mustn't there?'

'The techno-sages of ancient Terra,' Phelonas said, 'started spinning magnets inside wire coils near the end of Millennium Two. Or thereabouts. Goodness knows what gave them the idea. Although the Ancients weren't entirely like today's retarded inbreds – they did have some capacity for original thought. Anyway, it's a venerable technology, by any standards, but there was a time before it.'

'So this dilemma,' she said. 'What is it? And how could something from a literal Dark Age be relevant to today?'

'The dilemma,' Phelonas said, 'is to do with the idea of Absolute Morality and the idea of the Absolute God. The dilemma is that the two are incompatible. Either God is Absolute, and thus morality can be changed and so is arbitrary – or Morality is Absolute, and there is thus something that God can't do, by definition. In which case God is at most a limited entity. The application to the modern situation – well, if that kind of thinking went mainstream, think what it would do to the theocracy! They preach both Absolute God _and_ Absolute Morality. The dilemma explodes the scaffolding underneath their sophistry.'

The van hit another small pothole. The floor bounced and rattled under them and the suspension screeched.

Leora sat back, stunned. 'But – oh, my. That's amazing! But – wouldn't they just say that the Emperor _could_ change his mind, but doesn't?'

'They would, but that's a false cop-out,' Phelonas said. 'The Imperium teaches a binary distinction between Emperor and Chaos. A distinction that's absolute and unquestionable. But if the Emperor can change his mind, then it's a distinction based on sand. You could wake up one morning and what yesterday was the domain of Chaos is now the domain of the Emperor-fearing righteous! In which case, what meaningful distinction is there between Imperium and Chaos? They're nothing more than different aspects of the same. It would imply that there is no distinction – no truly meaningful distinction – between the Imperial Cult and the blackest of heresies.'

Leora considered it. 'But if there is no god in the first place…'

Phelonas nodded. 'Yes, exactly. The problem goes away. And of course we both know that the Emperor was no god. The religion is an empty shell built around a lie! In a godless universe, morality is just the structure that people build around their own lives, to allow them to live together.'

'So that was your book,' she said. 'However did you get it published? _Did_ you get it published?'

'Another planet in the Eastern Fringes,' Phelonas said. 'It's one of these places the Administratum's basically forgotten about. It's very technically an Imperial world, but the last actual Imperial official died three thousand years ago. The Administratum has no presence there and the local Church drifted away from the fold, over the centuries. It eventually fractured into lots of little ones. The planet never actually seceded, as such, but it's long since gone its own way. I got my book published there. I arranged for copies to be sent to other worlds. That was six hundred years ago. Copies of _On Reason _still turn up sometimes. I gather it's on the Inquisition's banned list now.'

'Recognition of sorts,' Leora observed. 'Do they know it was you?'

'I didn't sign it under my own name,' Phelonas replied. 'They've been looking for a six foot two heretic called Jonas Saulk. He has a beard, a bald spot, a monocle and an eye-patch.'

'A monocle _and_ an eye-patch?'

'Different eyes,' he said.

'But still!'

'Granted I got a bit carried away there,' Phelonas conceded, 'but it amused me at the time.'

'And they took that seriously?'

'Apparently they did. To be fair, the people who met "Jonas Saulk" genuinely believed that they had. I made sure that the memories were seeded quite carefully.'

'Then you've done a good job of gaming the Imperium,' she said. 'I suppose it shows how weak and inept the system is.'

'Actually,' Phelonas mused, 'I have an odd idea regarding the Imperium's inefficiencies. I don't think it actually is inefficient at all. I think it works almost exactly the way it was designed to.'

Leora stared. Overhead, a speck of shadow passed over the smudged pane. Somewhere high above, a bird had flown past. 'You do?'

'With one exception,' Phelonas said. 'I don't think human beings were ever meant to live in it. Its apparent failings emerge from having finite, messy humans occupying its halls.'

She frowned. 'That's the possibly the weirdest thing you've come out with yet.'

'In a way,' Phelonas said, 'the argument riffs off of the Euphyro Dilemma. It's always assumed that God is Good – mainly because He says so. But what if He's not? What if He's got His own agenda? Or what if He's using an entirely different morality? One where 'good' implies something else entirely?'

'I don't understand,' Leora said.

'Allow me to present an analogy,' Phelonas said. 'Back during Terra's dawn age, while they were still working out things like wheels and electricity and spacecraft, they also formulated the axioms of geometry. The basic mathematical principles, the things that give it its structure. There aren't many of those axioms – there don't need to be! In fact there are only five of them. The first four are elegant – concise, simple, even intuitive. For instance, the first is that a straight line may be drawn between any two points.'

Leora looked puzzled. 'But … that's obvious.'

'Yes, yes it is! And it _should_ be – because the space we live in is more-or-less Euclidean! Anyway, the other axioms follow on nice and neatly, like that – but then you reach number five. It's rather more complicated. The simplest formulation goes something like, if two points are situated beside each other, it is possible to draw two lines, one through each and in one particular orientation, they will never intersect.'

Leora was still frowning. 'I _think_ I followed that. That basically defines parallel lines, right?'

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'Correct. But note how much more awkward it is. The first axiom I could state in less than a single sentence. That one – if you wrote it down, it would almost be a paragraph. Now mathematicians are obsessively-rational, tidy people. They don't like untidiness. It makes them twitchy.'

'I met a mathematician once,' Leora said suddenly. 'While I was studying medicine. He was supposedly a Tech-Priest of some sort. But what he actually appeared to be was a piss-head. He wasn't just friends with Machine Spirits, he did the fifty-proof sort as well!'

'Some of them do drink, just a bit,' Phelonas allowed. 'Anyway, the Ancient geometers - when they were sober - thought something was fishy about the fifth axiom. They suspected it might be misstated – or perhaps even flat-out wrong. So they set out to falsify it.'

'Did they?' she asked.

'They got more than they bargained for,' Phelonas said. 'Oh did they ever get more than they bargained for! The fifth axiom isn't false, it's over-simplistic. It turns out that the muddle that is the fifth axiom hints at a whole new world. Two new worlds, in fact. It emerged that there are actually three – three! – internally-consistent sets of geometries. Euclidean, spherical, hyperbolic. In the case of the spherical system, the equivalent to parallel lines will always intersect at the poles. And the angles in a triangle don't add up to one hundred and eighty degrees.'

Leora was looking a bit twitchy herself. 'That sounds a bit dodgy. That's completely different!'

'Yes – and this is the point!' Phelonas leaned forward. 'The Emperor is good and the source of all morality. Or so they say. But suppose that there are two moralities – human and Imperial, if you will. They're just like Euclidean and spherical geometries – they're both internally-consistent and they're both "true", in a sense, but they have _entirely different consequences!_ The Euclidean triangle looks nothing like the spherical one, and the Emperor's good looks nothing like the human good.'

'So,' she said, 'where does the Imperium come into this?'

'There's a hint in the name,' Phelonas said. 'Again, a reference to ancient Terra. There was once an empire on that world. It would be nothing today, barely even a single continent. But this was back in the time when there were still fewer than half a billion human beings in all of the universe. A continent could be something significant, then. Anyway, before the empire there had been a republic, a city on a hill. That republic quickly sickened and died, poisoned by greed and selfishness. A noble experiment, to be sure, but it couldn't survive human nature. But in that city, its magistrates had held the power of life and death. They could execute criminals. They commanded its armies in the field. The people of that city – they called this power the _Imperium_. The power of life and death. That's what the modern galactic State is named for. Because that was what it was all about, from the beginning – death, and life for the chosen few.'

She shook her head. 'I'm sorry. You're going to have to beat me over the head with it. I still haven't quite connected whatever it is you're trying to tell me. I take it you're suggesting that the Emperor was actually personally evil? I'm kind of already sold on that idea.'

'It's more complicated than that,' Phelonas said. 'I suspect he genuinely believed his plan was right, that he was doing the right thing. That he was being the person to take the difficult choices.' Phelonas's voice dripped with contempt. 'And that, of course, is the narrative of every tyranny in history. No human overlord ever admits their own monstrosity! They all convince themselves that they're with the angels. But their deeds are black.'

'Bring back the triangles. I almost followed some of that one.'

The van hit something else on the road. The suspension moaned and the compartment shook. Some dirt was scraped loose from the edge of the skylight. It drifted down in a slight puff of dust.

'I don't think,' Phelonas said, 'that the Emperor ever told anyone the full truth about what he planned. Ever. I think he lied the way the rest of us breath. Probably even to himself. But there are hints of what he was doing, here and there.'

'Like what?' she asked.

'Look at the people he promoted, and the people he punished.'

'He created the Space Marines,' she noted.

'Yes, and that's an important data-point,' Phelonas said. 'He also placed the Tech-Priests of Mars in an exalted position. People who seek transcendence by fusing themselves with machines – the crazed dreams of the Ancient Extropians made flesh, in a particularly demented manner. Then you have the Navigators, who should be persecuted and hounded as mutants. But they aren't, because they can grope their way through the Warp. And Psykers as well – they're another group, although subject to less tolerance. Space Marines, Tech-Priests, Navigators, Psykers. What do all of them have in common?'

Leora was baffled. 'Uh – they're all weird?'

'In a way, yes! All of them have capacities denied to ordinary, limited humans. And all of them exist inside of tightly-controlled, hierarchical institutions – institutions that one man can plausibly bend to his will. This is not always so true of ordinary humans. In fact, left to themselves, people seem to lean toward corrupt semi-anarchy. They're not so easy to puppet or control. And if there was one thing that the Emperor lived for, it was control!'

She looked around the van. The engine rumbled in the background. 'And then there are the mutants,' she mused. 'Persecuted because they deviate from human purity.'

'Yes – and usually in ways that make them physically-inferior. Even weaker than normal. Also then you have the religions – institutions with structures and practises outside of the Emperor's power. That couldn't be tolerated, so he had them smashed. Officially the ancient Imperium taught scientific atheism-'

'Did it?'

'Yes. Believe me, I was there. You're talking to a first-generation witness. But the Emperor didn't intervene to stop the Tech-Priests' slide. He let them stagnate. He left the last few flickers of rationality gutter out and die amongst Mars's red sands.' Phelonas paused, then added, 'And that's something I remember well. I was on Mars while it was happening. It started long before I came there and the final embers were still smouldering after I left, but the stagnation was painfully apparent. The acceptance of received wisdom over criticism, the assumption that all the answers were already out there somewhere and just waiting to be dug up, the reluctance to support original research – it was a technical culture, but it was less and less of a scientific one! And the Emperor must have known what was happening. He let it. Because the slide suited his plans. Science can be disruptive – new ideas, new knowledge! New machines! Technological revolutions are exactly that. And their effects are greater and longer-lasting than any political revolution. That would be the last thing the Emperor needed – a new technological age would upset his applecart quite nicely.'

'So,' she said, 'what do you think he was doing?'

'He despised groups with their own ideas,' Phelonas said. 'He despised mutants. He liked strong, disciplined, obedient organisations. He had, I think, a sense of impatience with those messy, fallible human beings. He had an ideal of humanity, but it didn't involve creativity or dissent. It involved regimented masses, silence, passivity, obedience. Discipline. Self-sacrifice. The nullification of the individual. An eternity of saluting the flag. A more perfect union of absolute submission to the whole – with him sat at the centre, like a spider in its web.'

Leora shook her head. 'But people don't behave like that.'

'Yes, exactly! _Humans_ don't behave like that! But Marines…' He trailed off.

She frowned. 'What are you suggesting? That the Emperor meant to replace us – with the Astartes?'

'I think,' Phelonas said, 'that he had in mind, if you will, a final solution to the problem of human nature.'

'But – but – that's monstrous!' She was staring. 'But – the galaxy! All the worlds! They'd never go along with it!'

'Would they know, though?' Phelonas said. 'The Emperor controlled the Navigators' Guilds, and they controlled all the means of transportation. The Astropaths mediate the communications – and guess who they answer to? A planet might notice its neighbours had gone a bit quiet recently – but here's the government to tell you that it's all fine! Shut up and go back to sleep. Remember, he thought he had time on his side. He didn't need to act fast. And baseline humanity had some uses in the meantime. A source of slave labour, if nothing else. His palaces and gilded halls needed building first. Then he could start gently herding them off, a group here, a group there, off to the death camps. No need to rush, no need for fuss or bother. Take it slowly, so it doesn't rock the economy too much. He had his placemen who could fill all the gaps. A couple of centuries to build his gilded paradise in the sky. Then time to get to the important business of cleaning up those dirty, awkward little people. Who can't be relied on to always do what they're told.'

'But – but you need humans to turn into Astartes,' Leora said.

Phelonas shrugged. 'I'm sure that could be solved, eventually. Cloning, perhaps. In the meantime, just run some slave camps, stuffed with some captive breeding stock. It's sad for those individuals, but remember – sacrifices have to be made! These are the difficult decisions he believed he was taking! Remember what I said about moralities and geometries – the Emperor's ethical geometry was derived from a wholly-different set of moral axioms to the normal sort. I'm sure in his private little world, the genocide of an entire race would seem like the enlightened, benign, thing to do!'

She was staring.

'But, of course, there was one thing he didn't count on,' Phelonas said. 'He assumed that the brainwashing techniques were perfect. That his hold on the Astartes was indeed absolute. Clearly they weren't. Some of us started having doubts long before the Heresy. And as for Horus? I don't know. Maybe he sensed something. Or maybe he was just too much of a vainglorious maniac and decided he wanted Daddy's job. Either way, the effects were the same. We revolted against the monster-in-chief – and before he could put his plans in place, he got put in the gilded pickle-jar. When I told you I thought our revolt spared your species from extinction, I meant every word. That's why I despise people like these Originists – they think they're the ultimate in loyalty, but they want to be the beast's patsies. They're traitors against their own kind, and yet they think themselves pure!'

'You've never shown much in the way of humanitarian concern before.'

'Because I don't have any. Humanity was dumb enough to let itself be used – more fool it! Maybe once I felt some pity for its predicament, but that burned out long ago. If humanity must allow itself to be enslaved, then these days I don't much care. What I object to is me being someone's slave! That is how the Emperor saw his Space Marines – make no mistake about it! We weren't meant to be equals, or colleagues – we were meant to be subordinates and to be property. And I may be many things, but I will be no man's chattel.' Phelonas spoke with anger and pride. Ten thousand years and still the old rage burned in his veins. The passage of time had done nothing to cool the furious legacy of ancient wrongs.

'And where,' she asked, 'does Chaos come into all of this? I keep hearing references to Chaos gods – but if there are no gods, then what are they?'

Phelonas shrugged. 'A good question. You understand that I use the word 'god' only as a verbal short-hand. In this case I simply mean entities whose full nature and powers are beyond my current knowledge. Whether they are gods in the conventional theistic sense – well, I suspect not. If you look at something like Khorne, for instance, he – or it – seems more akin to a force of nature than a personality, as such.'

An idea suddenly occurred to Leora. 'It comes down to the Euphyro Dilemma, doesn't it? Could you imagine these things acting against their nature?'

Phelonas nodded. 'A good point. Could one imagine Khorne, say, deciding be non-violent? Maybe he could fill the air with rainbows and make fluffy bunnies rain from the sky? Obviously not – the idea is preposterous! Khorne is violence and rage, and nothing else. Therefore, Khorne is not an Absolute god, in the Euphyro sense –whatever Khorne is, it's something else.'

'You've given me a lot to think about,' Leora said. She fell silent, staring contemplatively into the middle distance.

She remained in that state for some time.


	59. Chapter 59 Hot Blood, Cold Heart

'Well, well, well,' Phelonas said. 'Looks like the plane spotters were almost right.'

'About what?' Leora asked. She and Phelonas were now at the vicinity of Serenade Falls, having arrived in the area a couple of hours ago. The van had bounced and bumped its way along various narrow dirt tracks before they'd reached this place. Leora had a sore bottom. The cushion had helped, but in the end the hard seat had won.

Phelonas was down on one knee, examining some footprints in the mud. They were stood near the edge of a small clearing. The clearing was near the top of a forested bluff. Just a few metres from their position, the land fell away sharply to the valley bottom, several hundred feet below. Beyond the bluff could be seen the cliff face from which the Serenade Falls tumbled. Leora could see now how they got their name. The plume of water plunged more than two hundred feet onto the pool below. It created quite a noise. It was a surprisingly-mellow sound, almost rhythmic. It did sound like a serenade of sorts.

Phelonas was ignoring it.

'Look at this,' he said, pointing downwards at the mud. It had rained recently, and the ground was still very wet.

She looked. Under his finger was a deep tread, sunk into the wet loam. It traced out the sole of a boot. 'That's a Space Marine,' Phelonas said. 'Note the depth of the print.'

Leora nodded. It was quite deep, a good inch or so. 'Weight?' she asked.

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'Marine plus armour plus guns … it adds up. It's one way to neutralise Astartes opponents, actually. Quite literally bog them down! It's partly why Assault Marines exist, too. When you can fly over it the mud isn't so relevant.' He poked at the edge of the bootprint.

'Okay,' she said, 'so we've had a marine through. That's good, right?'

'Yes, but look at these,' Phelonas said. There was another line of tracks next to the marine's. Phelonas was looking at them now.

'What about them?' Leora asked. She noticed the prints were smaller and not as deep – human, then, she supposed.

'The pattern on the soles,' Phelonas said. 'That's one they issue to the Octalian PDF – not Raven recruits!'

'The plane spotters…'

'Too much military fantasy, not enough military observation,' Phelonas said. 'They reported wrongly. We've stumbled across a joint-ops training exercise here, not Raven aspirants.'

'Is this bad?' she asked. To one side, somewhere in the trees, a bird cawed. In the background the waterfall tinkled away.

'No – in fact it's good. A squad of aspirants plus their sergeant might have been a problem. There is just me, after all. But a marine plus Octalian PDF?' Phelonas snorted. 'This should be quite manageable.'

'Now what?' Leora asked.

'You wait here,' Phelonas told her. 'I'll collect you when it's time.'

Before Leora could say anything else, he leapt to his feet and bolted off. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then watched the shaking foliage that had been disturbed by his passage.

She sighed, glancing in the direction of the tinkling waterfall. 'Oh well. I guess I'll wait, then.'

Phelonas moved through the woods, sword in one hand. He glided through the greenish half-light amongst the trees. Glints of sunlight scattered in through the thick canopy, high above. Phelonas was almost soundless as he made his way toward the prey.

The prints had been made recently. Their edges were still wet. The sun was arm – once the mud was exposed, it would dry fast. They couldn't be more than a few hours old, possibly not even that. Phelonas knew he was close. In addition, reaching out as best he could, he could feel the echoes of conscious, thinking minds. In the noise and hubbub of a city, this weak signal would have been lost, but out here, miles from society, the disturbance in the Warp was visible.

Phelonas noticed that the growth ahead was thinning. The trees sloped down into a dense thicket of bushes and shrubs. Phelonas slowed. Beyond the trees he could see a clearing. It was a vaguely triangular space. On one side, a cliff rose up, with jumbled rocks of various sizes at its base. On the other, the wall of trees wrapped round. There was an opening at the far apex of the triangle. It looked like a track, leading off further into the woods.

And in the middle of the clearing, there was a Storm Raven and five Octalian PDF troopers. The PDF men were trying and failing to light a fire. They looked tired, wet and miserable. The Space Marine sergeant looked like he was about so snap. He was stood there, thin-lipped and glaring as the Octalian troops faffed around in front of a heap of damp twigs. One of them was trying to do something with a couple of sticks. Another one had just fumbled and dropped a cigarette lighter, and was trying to find it amongst the thick grass.

Phelonas watched the scene with amused contempt. Clearly, this bit of joint operations wasn't going so well. The Raven looked like he wanted to kick the living daylights out of these troops. Briefly Phelonas wondered if perhaps that was why the PDF had sent them on this exercise – inept men in need of a thorough kicking?

'For skak's sake,' he heard the Space Marine growl, 'this is pathetic! By the Throne, you are the mostly useless skaktards I've ever had to deal with! First you lose the map – then the tents blow away because you got the guy-lines wrong – now skakking this!' The marine was holding a chainsword and a bolt pistol and something about his stance suggested he was close to using them.

The marine's invective entertained Phelonas, but there was something better. Something else to smile about – the Space Marine's helmet was hanging from his belt, not on his head.

'Ouch!' one of the PDF troopers yelped.

'Oh for skak's sake, what in the Emperor's name have you skakking done now?'

Sounding miserable, the trooper said, 'I dropped my gun, Sergeant. On my foot.'

Phelonas was rather impressed by the subsequent outburst of swearing.

He let the farce beyond carry on for a few more moments. Moving as carefully as he could, he drew back into the trees. He wasn't worried about the PDF troopers but the marine would need careful handling.

Phelonas felt something give under his foot. There was a quiet crack. He froze.

Over in the clearing, the Space Marine looked up, frowning slightly. He eyed the tree line in front of him. A hint of suspicion entered his eyes.

Thinking quickly, Phelonas picked one of the Octalian troops. Focusing hard, he stabbed the man's mind with a telepathic impulse.

The Octalian jumped as if shot. 'My foot! My foot! It's-' Then the man stared at his foot in incomprehension as it became apparent that it was not actually on fire.

The marine was distracted by this spectacle. 'And just what the skak are you doing, Trooper?'

Phelonas breathed again. Looking down, he saw that he'd made the classic woodland mistake – he'd stood on a twig, and it had snapped under him. Oh well. It was a useful reminder not to be overconfident!

He moved back into the trees, careful not to tread on any more treacherous pieces of wood. Once he was out of the immediate line of sight of the hapless PDF and the unfortunate sergeant, Phelonas began to circle round through the woods.

As far as Phelonas was concerned, the key to success in combat wasn't necessarily strength or valour or any nonsense like honour. The key was winning with the first stroke. If the enemy were dead before they could even realise they were under attack, then there was no way they could foil your plans.

Phelonas had a powerful sword and several thousand years of experience. He could probably take the Raven in hand-to-hand fighting. But the key word was 'probably' - as the twig had just demonstrated, accidents could happen. Phelonas was no coward, but he hadn't lived as long as he had by taking unnecessary risks.

Halfway along his path, he paused his stalking through the woods to pick up a nice, big, heavy rock. Then he moved on, the rock clutched in one hand and the sword in the other.

Finally, he was positioned only feet from the path at the far side of the clearing. He was now almost exactly behind the marine and his wretched-looking charges. Some of them still had wet leaves sticking to bits of their muddy, grass-stained uniforms. To judge from the reference to tents blowing away, they'd presumably spent a damp night sleeping in the rain.

Phelonas hefted the rock, feeling its weight.

The marine's backpack was facing him. There was a skull in the middle of it, an honour for some campaign or something. And Phelonas could just see the top of the marine's shaved head, poking up over the crown of the backpack. It gleamed in the sunlight.

Phelonas had one chance to get this right.

He aimed. He drew his hand back. He threw the rock.

It sailed through the air – right on target.

With a loud crack, a big rock smacked straight into the top of the Space Marine's head. A direct blow, straight to the skull. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

The PDF men had a moment of baffled incomprehension, staring at the unconscious marine.

Then Phelonas stepped out of the trees.

'What the skak,' one of the troopers said in a worried voice, 'is _that_?'

'Your death,' Phelonas replied. Just for a moment the tableaux held – five woefully-unprepared PDF troops, an unconscious Storm Raven and a Chaos Space Marine with murder on his mind.

Phelonas deliberately paused for a moment, to let them see him. Let their pathetic little minds be addled with fear! Now that he stood clearly in the sunlight, he had an imposing figure. The silver edging on his armour caught the light. The carved, polished bone of the horns on his helmet were a stark white. The skulls on his backpack grinned hungrily. Various spikes and arrows gleamed in the light. The sunlight also showed the deep blue of his armour and the vividly-green snakes on one shoulder. And he raised his sword, a blade as black as ebony. As he held it, the daemon woke in hungry anticipation of violence. The runes flared with a fitful red light, as if they were catching fire.

'Oh skak,' one of the PDF troops squeaked.

Phelonas fell on them.

He leapt forward, sweeping his sword out as he did. The first swing took the blade deep into the chest of a PDF trooper. The flak armour he was wearing snapped like a brittle plate. With a crunch of bone, the blade bit in through his ribcage and straight into his chest-cavity. Blood sprayed out, but not anything like as much as one might expect - the daemon was drinking, frantic for sustenance.

A moment later, Phelonas kicked the body off of his blade. He spun round, sweeping it in a low arc. It decapitated a trooper who had been trying to land a blow from the rear. A nice try, Phelonas had to acknowledge, but he'd seen the man's shadow.

Bare seconds had elapsed and two PDF men were dead already. The rest panicked. Eyes wide with fear, they tried to run.

Two of them were close to the trees. There was a chance they might make it. The Chaos Marine had other ideas, though. The daemon had tasted blood and wanted more. It was in a co-operative mood. Phelonas reached out to it. Finding its alien consciousness, he showed it what he wanted. And he showed it what he was offering it.

It quivered with excitement.

He felt the daemon brush the edge of his mind. For just a moment, it contorted itself into an aetheric bridge, a direct connection between himself and the Warp. A connection and also a filter, a sort of psychic firewall. It allowed him to access the Warp, to use it, but it held out the full force of the howling void. Phelonas could reach enough of it to be useful, but not enough of it could reach him for it to be dangerous to him.

He reached out, sending an idea. His intention propagated out through the daemon, into the Immaterium. And in that ethereal, febrile place, intention became action. A surge of psychic energy washed back cross the link, distorting the physical world like an unholy gravity.

Phelonas spoke a Word, releasing the energy.

A convulsion rippled out through the air. It was as if a small bomb had exploded right where Phelonas was stood. The three surviving troops were hurled off of their feet. The pressure wave slammed them to the ground. They were dazed, deafened and concussed. Ears were ringing and eyes wouldn't focus. They rolled around on the wet grass, moaning and gasping in pain.

Phelonas walked up to the nearest one. He drove his blade into the man's chest, letting it drink. The man's mouth spasmed as he died.

Phelonas repeated the grizzly spectacle on the next trooper. The daemon made happy noises as it eagerly guzzled up more blood.

While this was going on, the last surviving PDF trooper had managed to recover some of his wits. He had rolled onto his front and was trying to crawl away. But his ears hurt, his head was ringing and his sense of balance was confused. The world seemed to be spinning. He struggled to move.

Phelonas walked up to the crawling man and kicked him in the ribs.

The man collapsed to the ground with an agonised whimper.

'Goodbye,' Phelonas told him. He plunged the blade of the sword into the man's chest.

Blood spurted as the heart failed. The daemon purred with black exultation as it fed. Phelonas stood there in the warm sunshine of an Octalian afternoon, his hand on the hilt and his shadow stretched like a black shroud over the dying PDF trooper. He waited until the blade had gorged itself, then tugged it free of the corpse.

Paying no further consideration to the remains of the PDF troops, Phelonas turned his attention to the unconscious Raven.

The marine had a big, bloody gash along his head, where the rock had hit. Phelonas probed it with a fingertip. Good – no loose bits of skull under there. The marine wasn't mortally injured – yet, anyway. Phelonas didn't want him dying too soon. That would be inconvenient.

Then there was nothing for it but to utter another Word, while the daemon was still sated and compliant. The Warp was communed with. Intentions were transmitted and energies drawn through. Reality was bent.

The unconscious Space Marine bobbed up, settling about a foot off the ground. Underneath him a patch of grass was flattened by the displaced weight. Unlike the blast of force, this was complicated. This wasn't something you could do during the fuss and distraction of battle – this required careful thought. Phelonas was creating a local alteration in the way the marine's mass interacted with gravity. He wasn't actually weightless – having the intended sacrifice drift off like a bizarre balloon would also have been inconvenient. In fact he weighed as much as ever. The difference was that the weight was on the ground, but his body wasn't.

Having the Raven float a foot or so off the ground made it a lot easier to tow the body back to where Leora was. There was less risk of limbs randomly snagging on undergrowth or branches.

Getting a firm grip of one foot, Phelonas set off, dragging the floating marine behind him.

'Intriguing,' Leora said as the Chaos Marine and cargo emerged from the woods.

Phelonas was still towing the marine. There was even more smeared blood on the Raven's head now – he'd almost woken up twice on the journey. Phelonas had dealt with it using a sharp rap from the pommel of his sword.

Phelonas walked clear of the woods, then let go of the leg. It flopped down to level with the rest of the body. A foot below, a black shadow was outlined against the depressed grass. In the background, the waterfall tinkled.

Phelonas spoke a Word of Release.

With a thud, the marine fell to the ground.

'So you got one,' Leora said.

Phelonas nodded. 'Yes. So I did.'

'Any problems?' she asked.

'Not really, though I may have inadvertently assisted the Imperium.'

'How?'

'The PDF I dealt with – let's just say now that they're dead, the average quality of the Octalian Guard just went up a bit.'

'Oh, right. Oh dear. I shan't ask.'

'They were pathetic. And wholly unworthy of being fed to my blade. I did so anyway, though.'

'So – now what?'

'Something rather grizzly,' Phelonas said. He reached down to the scabbard hung from his waist. He drew his sword. It slid out with a metallic hiss. 'You might want to stand back.'

Hurriedly, Leora moved back. She looked a little uncertain.

Phelonas considered the distance. 'Maybe a little further,' he said.

She backed off some more. 'You – you have done this before?' she asked.

'Oh yes. Quite recently, actually. It was how I got here, actually.'

'Really?' she looked surprised.

'Yes. There was a silly little Chaos cult on your moon. I tricked them into attracting the Ravens' attention. The resulting firefight was quite violent, you know. I dedicated it to Chaos and used it as a sacrifice. There was just enough energy to open a portal from the moon to Delta. Why, did you think I took a passenger flight down? Waltzed right past Customs at Sothis Interstellar? Declared my big black daemonic sword as carry-on baggage?'

'With you,' she said weakly, 'I never know, to be honest. And the people in Customs are pretty useless.' Then she frowned. 'But – how did you get to the Moon?'

'A ship dropped me at the edge of the system,' Phelonas said. 'I took a small lander in, disguised as a bit of rock. There's rather a lot of them up there, you know.'

Leora's eyes had narrowed sceptically. 'Most asteroids don't have engines,' she said.

'Nor did this one. It was on your bog-standard meteoric orbit, all the way in. Nothing to catch the eye. I spent most of the journey in suspended animation. It took four years!'

She lifted her eyebrows, looking surprised. 'You started all this four years ago?'

'Twelve, actually. I became aware this planet had caught an Originist infestation. It was something I figured I could use. So I started doing my homework and I started making plans.'

'That's patience,' she said. Behind them, the waterfall tinkled. The leaves on the trees rustled as a breeze sighed amongst them.

'The Originists are a rot,' Phelonas said, 'and like all fungi, they need some time to grow. There was no rush. Anyway, my fake meteor was headed in toward an uninhabited bit of the Moon. So no-one cared about it. I'm sure their sensors saw it on the way in, but it's just another dead rock, you know? It went right down into a nice, deep crater, where they won't have coverage. And once it was in there, the engines fired and it landed. It's still there, sat at the bottom. After that, I just got out and walked to one of the moon cities. No-one was expecting an intruder to arrive across the surface, so no-one was looking for it.' He shrugged. 'A quick bit of hacking on an emergency airlock and I was in.'

'How did you find out about this cult?' Leora said.

'Their leader was a psyker. Completely deranged, of course. And he had lots of voices in his head. Some of them were just schizophrenia, others were daemonic. And one of them was me. I promised him a prophet from the Warp. And guess what? I delivered.'

She nodded slowly. 'And then you opened yourself a portal down to Delta.'

'Yes,' he said.

The marine moaned groggily.

Speedy as anything, Phelonas kicked him in the head. The tip of his boot connected with the skull with a sharp crack. The moan subsided into a gurgle and then silence.

'Right,' Phelonas said, 'we need to get on with this.'

He took hold of the sword, wrapping both hands around the hilt. He held it over the marine's exposed throat.

Phelonas began chanting, a careful, measured intonation. Leora was watching, baffled and fascinated at the same time. Her hair was stirred by the wind. She was ignoring the stray strands.

Phelonas kept chanting, concentrating on the words. Concentration was the key. These words themselves were just words – but they acted to focus the mind, to remove distractions. For this was an operation, as delicate and elaborate as any piece of surgery, and the mind had to be as sharp and steady as a surgeon's scalpel.

Phelonas knew fully well how appallingly dangerous this undertaking was.

As he chanted, he felt the daemon stir inside the sword. It recognised the form of words. It had heard them before. It was listening now, with a hint of curiosity. The runes had begun to glow again. Not with a fiery red light this time, but instead with a hazy, flickering violet glow.

To Phelonas, the first key to sorcery was understanding exactly what you were doing. Ultimately, it was about modifying the environment. But it was about doing it in some way that you couldn't by yourself – hence the need to call on some other power. And this was where the problems crept in. The powers of the Warp were inhuman, alien beyond the comprehension of corporeal life. They were at best fickle allies and all too often they became enemies. If they felt compelled they could be touchy. If the set of instructions was wrong, or had loopholes, the daemon might just let them fail. Or worse yet, it might well lash out.

That was the first rule of sorcery: if you can do whatever it is you wish yourself, do it that way. Don't resort to sorcery unless you have to.

After a few minutes' chanting, Phelonas was ready. His mind was focused and clear. He knew what needed doing. All the distractions were blotted out. The waterfall's sounds, the wind, Leora's worried face – they were all a million miles away.

He thrust the blade down.

It bit into the marine's larynx. Blood spurted. The marine convulsed. His eyes burst open – too little, too late.

Phelonas reached into the sword, and out into the Warp. As he did he gathered up the psychic energy radiating from the dying Space Marine. And he offered it, like a bouquet of flowers, or perhaps a tempting and succulent meal. And he called out.

And something answered.

A frisson of power passed through Phelonas. A sense of something vast, something potent and mighty, something beyond even his grasp. It was the same sort of feeling he had received from the dying Tyranid – a great beast. No other term seemed appropriate.

He could feel it, rising from the depths of the Warp, like a kraken from the deeps of the ocean, drawn to the sunlight.

He offered the dying marine's soul to it.

He felt it reach out.

He could feel the daemon shivering inside the sword. The thing he was calling through it, the daemon was afraid of it. This was as far beyond it as a human being is beyond an ant, or perhaps an amoeba.

Phelonas ignored the daemon's fear, focusing on the Great Beast.

The Beast reached forward, pushing through skeins of twisted Warp energy as it did so. Phelonas's corporeal senses, remote now from his consciousness, were distantly registering the presence of intense cold.

Leora had backed right away. He and the almost-expired Space Marine were inside a spreading circle of frost. Leora was shivering, hugging herself. She was staring at the patch of mist that had formed around Phelonas. It was spreading as the temperature of the air plunged.

There were hisses and crackles from amongst the vegetation. The plants were freezing, flash-cooled. Frozen leaves cracked and shattered, plant-fragments cascading to the ground in a shower of icy debris.

The Great Beast was close now. Its power was leaking over, into the physical world. It was distorting the flow of heat and entropy, upsetting nature's thermodynamic balance. Cold where there should be no cold. A vast, life-sapping appetite, a void demanding fulfilment. It was hungry – hungry for life, hungry for energy, hungry for souls.

This was another reason why Serenade Falls was the only viable location for Phelonas's plan. If they were doing this in a populated area, any local psykers would already be running around in the streets screaming, blood streaming from their ears and noses. Even with the much smaller-scale working Phelonas had conducted on the Moon, that had been a problem. But there were no other psykers near Serenade Falls – the land was empty of people for miles in every direction.

The Great Beast reached for the soul again, but Phelonas held it back.

He felt its growl, a sound without sound, an incipient sense of menace. The Beast was not to be denied! It would not be denied!

Phelonas had no intention of denying it. He reached out to it, showing it what he wanted, offering the soul in payment.

The Beast reached back, accepting.

And, for just a moment, it brushed the edge of Phelonas's mind, touching him directly.

He gasped, staggering back. It was – it was like everything! The power! It was as if there was electricity burning through his veins, not blood. He felt as if he could see _everything_, see _everyone_, see _everywhere_. All truths, all knowledge, all structure – particles to galactic superclusters, holy writ to forbidden lore, it was all there! And more – scattered impressions cascaded through his mind. He saw a burning wasteland, a fiery red sky with a bloody moon and a landscape of broken crags. Then he saw a city, vast, alien and crystalline, burning amidst some weird orgy of self-destruction. He saw a ship tumbling helplessly through the void, sensed the raw fear of its hapless passengers as they awaited their fate.

He saw -

He felt -

He tasted –

It was too much, too fast, too soon. His mind staggering under the onslaught, Phelonas felt his concentration break. Suddenly everything spun and surged around him. He felt an enormous impact and a moment of utter confusion –

'Phelonas? Phelonas? Are you - are you all right?'

Sense and a comparative degree of sanity returned to the Chaos Marine's staggered mind. The world blurred back into some sort of coherent whole.

'Ugh,' he said.

Phelonas was lying on the ground, next to the corpse of the Space Marine. Leora was bent over him, looking concerned.

With a grunt, Phelonas forced himself into a sitting position. Looking around him, he identified his sword. It was next to him, the runes cold and silent. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The daemon was still there, but it was cowering deep inside the blade. It was still scared, he realised.

'Phelonas?'

He remembered Leora's presence.

'Yes,' he said, 'I'm still here.'

'That was a bit scary,' she said. 'Everything froze and went foggy. And then you started howling and that thing ripped open and you fell over. I didn't really know what was going on.'

'I – I may have bitten off more than I could chew,' Phelonas admitted. 'The sacrifice was answered. Something came in. But it was powerful – too powerful! I'm not quite sure what I just summoned, but it almost had me for a moment there.' Then he caught up with something else she had said. 'What thing just ripped open?'

Leora pointed.

Her finger was aimed toward the edge of the cliff. Phelonas looked. Sure enough, there was an anomaly, hovering just short of the cliff edge.

It was an elliptical rent in the air. It was about eight feet high, by maybe four feet at the fattest part of the ellipse. Its edges were confusing, a coruscating mishmash of lensed images of the sky and ground behind, a fractal boundary of twisted and warped space. The whole thing smelt of ozone and it was making a faint humming sound, like a dying striplight. Air molecules, Phelonas supposed, being ripped apart by the boundary.

The inside of the ellipse was even weirder, though. It looked onto a landscape that bore no resemblance to any part of the scenery around them.

'Well, well, well,' Phelonas said, smiling. 'It seems the Beast came through for me.'

'What is – that?' Leora asked.

'You're looking at a gate,' Phelonas said. 'A hole, ripped through space. A hole straight through to the Mahaal.'


	60. Chapter 60 The Elsewhere

'Welcome to the Mahaal,' Phelonas said. 'We're about as far out as it's safe to go.'

A cold wind swirled around the two of them. Leora breathed deep. It had a smell, one that was nothing like a natural wind. There were strange scents, cinnamon, orange, ginger and hints of more exotic spices. The scented wind whistled and moaned over the huge crystalline spar on which they were both stood.

Leora looked down at the surface below her feet. There was a single, smooth path. The translucent material of the crystal gleamed beneath her. On either side of the path, the spar was covered in strange, spiky little crystalline growths. All of those growths seemed to have growths of their own, she noted. Squinting, she got an impression of tinier crystals on the crystals on the crystals…

She shook her head violently.

'It's fractal,' Phelonas explained. 'I made the entire structure using fractals. You give the daemons the appropriate instruction-set for the fractals, and off they go. This way you don't have to tell them every little detail, but you still get things more or less right.'

Leora looked up. 'That's where we're going?' she asked.

The spar they were stood on stuck out from an enormous and enormously-weird … thing. Leora wasn't sure what else to call it. She also wasn't sure quite how big it was. It looked something like the offspring of a giant icicle that had been cross-bred with a crazed snowflake. It was vaguely conical, but branches and spires erupted from every part of it. The eruptions themselves had eruptions, and they too had branches and spires. Leora tried hard not to follow the chain of fractal division. It was hard – the eye kept trying to slide along the subdividing lines, but they tangled on, ever smaller and smaller, with no apparent termination.

She blinked, shaking her head again.

She looked up. The vast structure was hanging down, although she couldn't see what it was hanging from. As she looked up, the cone flared out, but it's 'base' – if that was the right word – was lost in the mist above. Above the structure there was a sky, of sorts. It consisted of an orange haze. It wasn't dense, but eventually the faint fog defeated all sight-lines.

'What's the mist for?' she asked.

'It stops you seeing into the Warp,' Phelonas said. 'Trust me – you wouldn't want to do that.'

She looked down instead.

The vast icicle-snowflake-thing didn't have a definite base but it did have a definite tip. The sides of the fractal cone contracted inwards as you looked down, but before they finally reached a point, there was a sudden ovoid flaring. It looked almost like the bulb of a flower. This bulb hung down from the bottom of the structure.

'Is it just me,' she said, 'or are there windows down there?'

'That was meant to be the reading room,' Phelonas said. 'Yes, there are windows. I liked the view. I found it just detailed enough to enjoy, but not detailed enough to distract me.'

She looked right down, below the structure. 'And that – that storm? Is there any risk of it coming up here?'

Phelonas shook his head. 'No. It's been swirling down there for six hundred years, and doubtless it will swirl for six hundred more.'

As well as the ceiling, there was a floor of sorts. It appeared to be a stormy, roiling cloud layer, miles below. Here and there were little flashes – vast strikes of lightning, Leora supposed. Directly below the structure was a tremendous cyclone. She could see the descending streamers of gas along the walls of its eye, whole weather systems being pulled into the black abyss of its bottom. It was like a sort of aerial maelstrom, a place where clouds go to die. The crystalline structure hung exactly over the centre of the cyclone's eye.

The cloud layer flowed away on all sides, until it too faded into the deepening orange haze.

'This place is based on a gas giant I went to once,' Phelonas explained. He was trying to sound analytical, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.

'So the crystal spiky thing,' Leora said, 'that's the Mahaal proper?'

Phelonas nodded.

'How far away are we?'

'This spar is about two miles long,' Phelonas said. 'As I said, we're about as far out as you can safely go.'

Leora looked at the portal back to Delta. Like on the planet, here too it hung about a foot above the surface of the crystal. The scene on the other side of it was reassuringly mundane in comparison to the weirdness around her. She looked beyond it. The spar seemed to extend some way further. 'Can we go further out?' she said, thinking that the view might be better.

'I wouldn't advise it,' Phelonas said. 'Here it's safe.'

She stared at the sharp, spike-like crystal growths. They looked like they could impale. Some of them were as high as her waist. The extra fractal growths on their surfaces made them look abrasive too, like they were covered in glittering crystal sandpaper. 'This is safe?' she asked, sounding dubious. 'I'm not sure about all the spiky things.'

Phelonas waved that away. 'I meant,' he said, 'it's safe as in you and I can live here. Long-chain molecules behave themselves – insofar as they ever do! Mass is conserved. Protons are stable – or at least, as stable as they usually are. Ions are transported normally across cell membranes. Your metabolism can function here. But go out further along the spars and you enter the transition region, where the normal Warp starts to take over. The physics becomes … erratic, perhaps.'

'Oh,' she said. 'So you just die.'

'Not necessarily,' he said. 'That's what you'd expect – but we're deep in the Warp. Don't ever assume that it will behave in a way you understand. Or in a way that you can understand. If the Warp is like an ocean, then Imperial ships sail on the surface. As for us – right now, we're in a bathyscaphe that's dived to the bottom of a trench. We're so far down there's a not a hint of daylight. But there are things moving beyond the glass. We're far enough down that reality is wholly malleable – that's how I was able to build this place!'

She shuddered. The wind moaned around them, whistling mournfully through the crystals. 'Okay, I get – well, actually, I _don't_ get the idea, but I have a feeling I don't want to get it either.'

He nodded. 'You're learning.'

'So – where do we find this Tarrak person?'

Phelonas sighed, looking at the structure he'd built. 'I'll give you a guess.'

She looked down toward the storm. Her eyes paused on the glittering, gleaming crystalline bauble that was the reading room. 'Oh.'

'Yes. He threw all the books out and made it into his throne room.'

'Oh dear,' she said.

'Quite,' Phelonas said. 'I'd spent centuries putting that collection together. There were some irreplaceable volumes in there. And what did he do? Chuck them all out to make room for his skull collection.' Phelonas shuddered with distaste.

'So you're definitely not warm to this person.'

'I'd like to put his head,' Phelonas mused, 'on a stick. A blunt stick, too. So it hurts more. That would make such a lovely present!'

'Talking of heads,' she said, 'do we really need this?'

She was carrying the Raven sergeant's helmet. His decapitated head was sat inside it. She was holding the helmet upside down, so that the contents wouldn't drift out. The head had taken on a withered, shrunken character. It was as if Phelonas's blade had drunken more than just the blood, but had also somehow drained off some of the material. What was left was dry and powdery. Some flakes had already fallen off.

'Yes we do,' Phelonas said. 'I'll offer Tarrak the marine's skull – as a gift. That's the sort of gift the crude little thug appreciates. Also we have the geneseed, the weapons and the armour, back on the other side of the gate. More trade goods.'

'Should we bring them, too?'

'No. We don't want to overplay the hand. Give him everything in one go and he might just get over-excited and misbehave. Remember, he won't know where our gate is. No sorcerers, remember?'

'Then won't this risk freaking him out?' she asked.

'Not really. People open gates to the Mahaal all the time, when they want to use the Bloodtakers. Tarrak is quite used to gates randomly popping open. He just can't open any himself.'

'They didn't think this through too well,' she observed.

'The Bloodtakers serve Khorne. They barely think at all. In fact, I'm not even sure if some of them still can, let alone do!'

'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I suppose we should get started.'

They started walking toward the structure.

Being about two miles, the walk took a bit more than half an hour. Leora began to gain an idea of the scale of the Mahaal. It must be dozens of miles high. The branch they were on widened as they walked down it. It gained sub-branches of its own, and they too were soon branching in turn. The branches got bigger and higher, sprouting like glassy plants. Before long, it became something like the trunk of a horizontal, crystalline tree. Leora and Phelonas were surrounded by a forest of crystal trunks, branching overhead into a shimmering, glittering canopy.

The scented wind blew amongst them, bringing with it a hint of ginger and roses, of limes and cinnamon. The crystal forest hissed and tinkled, as if they were surrounded by a thousand quiet windchimes. After a while, the Mahaal itself and the hazy sky were largely obscured. But it wasn't dark. The crystal glowed with a faint bluish radiance. They moved amongst an ethereal twilight, blue light around them and a diffuse orange filtering in here and there from above.

Then, suddenly, they reached the entrance.

The regular, repeating crystal was suddenly interrupted by a sheer wall of quartz. In the wall was a semi-circular archway, its boundary picked out in bright blocks of amethyst. Arcane symbols were carved into the blocks. The symbols glowed with a golden inner light.

And in front of the archway were stood two Chaos Marines.

They looked quite different to Phelonas, Leora observed. Their armour was blood-red, edged with gold. And their suits were dented, chipped and battered, smeared here and there with dirt and marked with scratches in the paint. They were a sharp contrast from the analytically-precise, neurotically-geometrical cleanliness of the crystal forest. They clearly didn't pay much attention to appearance. On their shoulders both of them bore a peculiar angular symbol, a triangular design intersected with sharp, angular lines. The marines' helmets bore angular decorations which put her in mind of the symbols on their shoulders.

'The Mark of Khorne,' Phelonas told her in a low voice. 'These are berserkers. Let me deal with them.'

Both of them carried enormous power-axes, with black housing and gold trimmings on them. One of the axes had a skull hung from its base on a short chain. Leora noticed that both marines had bandoliers running around their torsos, with skulls hanging from them. The berserker on the right had two more than the other one, she noted.

Then the two Chaos Marines noticed them.

'WHO DARES INTRUDE HERE!' the one on the right shouted. 'I WILL TAKE HIS SKULL FOR KHORNE!'

Without any further pause, the berserker charged.

Leora stepped back, feeling a little nervous.

As the marine ran, booted feet thundering onto the crystal, he raised his axe for a strike. He closed on Phelonas. To Leora's astonishment, Phelonas stood his ground.

At the last moment, Phelonas stepped to one side.

The berserker, carried by his momentum, sailed past. He tried to stop himself. He stumbled.

In a flash, Phelonas drew his sword.

The berserker turned, swinging his axe toward Phelonas.

Phelonas ducked past it. The axe sailed on, just missing one of his backpack vents. Then he moved. Leora struggled to follow the fight – they were both so unbelievably fast!

For an instant, the blur of motion resolved. Phelonas was next to the berserker. The Khornate warrior tried to turn. He raised his free hand, making a fist, to punch Phelonas. The wind chimed and tinkled in the crystal trees.

The fist shot forward, but Phelonas was moving too.

There was an opening, just for a moment, as the berserker twisted round.

His neck was exposed. Just for an instant. That was all Phelonas needed. His sword flashed out like black lightning. The dark metal of his blade slid into the berserker's throat. With a savage jerk of his wrist, Phelonas levered the marine's head off. The marine's corpse toppled over, spilling red blood in an erupting puddle onto the crystal floor.

The helmeted head smacked down onto the floor, landing with a very uncrystalline thud. Phelonas kicked it toward the remaining berserker.

It rolled to the marine's feet. Leora was expecting an explosion of violence. Instead, to her surprise, the marine bent down and picked it up. The blank, dark eyelenses of his helmet regarded the decapitated head.

'Blood for the Blood God!' the marine shouted, 'and skulls for His throne!' Then the blank eyelenses turned toward Phelonas and Leora. Not quite shouting this time, he said, 'I will take you to our Lord. Follow.'

The marine walked into the archway, carrying the head. His sabatons ceramite clanked loudly on the crystal. It was a heavy, arrogant sound. He didn't care who heard him walking – it was as if he wanted to announce his fearlessness to the world.

The surviving berserker ignored the corpse behind him, and the big red puddle.

Leora looked at Phelonas. 'What do we do?' she asked. The wind chimed amongst the crystal trees, and smelt vaguely of apple and spices.

'We follow him,' Phelonas said, starting to walk. Leora hurried to accompany him. She stepped gingerly over the puddle.

'But – you just killed one of Tarrak's troops!'

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'The insufferable little buffoon won't talk to you unless you do that. You have to kill for admission here. He says it's because you're not worthy of Khorne's Chosen otherwise.'

'And what is it actually about?' she asked. 'It seems wasteful. And surely the troops don't like being treated like this.'

'Look at him.' Phelonas gestured with his sword at the back of the berserker who was leading them in. 'Does he look like he cares? Khornate warriors are interested in killing – and that's it. As for waste? Well, part of Tarrak's price for mercenaries is fresh shipments of cultists. They set up gladiatorial 'games' for them. The survivors get upgraded. Or at least, they think they're being upgraded. Just look at it like recycling. Cultists are basically human refuse, and here they get turned back into something useful.' Phelonas fell silent for a moment.

They were inside the arch now. The sole source of light was the blue gleaming within the crystal around them. It was like being in a tunnel through a glacier, or maybe being underwater. Their footsteps echoed in the enclosed space. The berserker up ahead was louder, his feet pounding heavily onto the crystal.

Phelonas then said, 'And Tarrak gives his Bloodtakers plenty of chances to get killed. He keeps their life expectancies short – if they last too long, they might challenge him.'

'Yuck,' she said. 'You know, that reminds me of the Imperium. Using people to death and throwing them aside!'

Phelonas nodded. 'Yes. And like the Imperium, there's always a fresh supply of the stupid devout to be cannon fodder. The parallel works. Interesting.'

They made their way into the Mahaal. The berserker led them down several twisting flights of quartz stairs and through several long glittering corridors. The passages were interspersed with small gardens and courtyards. None of them were covered. The walls seemed to rise vertically forever. A sort of hazy daylight filtered down from somewhere. Leora tried peering up one of them, but it vanished into the same sort of fog that filled the skies outside. She considered asking Phelonas about the source of the light but she decided it might be best to leave it be. As it was, the courtyards and gardens made a convincing illusion of being outside.

Sadly, what they didn't have a convincing illusion of was maintenance.

'Look at this!' Phelonas growled as they passed through one. 'Just look at it!'

The courtyard was centred on an ornamental fountain. Sadly, the fountain was broken. Shattered pieces of it lay broken and scattered around the base. Its fluted column was truncated abruptly halfway up. But that was not the limit of the damage. In the quadrants of the courtyard there had once been ornamental plants in grand-looking pots. The pots were broken and smashed. The remains of the plants lay scattered on the floor, withered and desiccated. In their place, crude iron spikes had been hammered upright into the pots. The spikes were adorned with skulls. Broken, cracked, bloodied and dirtied skulls. Shattered fragments of more lay about in the dirt that remained in the pots. Heaps of discarded bones were mounded up in the corners. It seemed anything other than a skull was simply cast aside.

'So the skulls weren't in your design?' Leora asked.

Phelonas's answer was a low, angry growl.

She took the hint and kept her mouth shut after that.

As they journeyed even deeper into the structure, Tarrak's defilements became more prominent. More and more often they would reach a corridor intersection to find a crude gibbet awaiting them, adorned with the strangulated remains of some unfortunate victim. Many a wall had bleak iron spikes hammered into them without regard to the damage this inflicted on the crystal. The spikes were invariably surmounted with skulls, except for those where the skull had cracked and fallen apart. Here and there in the corridors they encountered dismembered skeletons, abandoned in broken heaps. Most of them had been there for decades, maybe even centuries, but they passed the occasional relic of more recent atrocities too. Some of these were recent enough for some torn and tattered flesh to still cling to the broken bones. The stench they created was ferocious.

Leora was soon missing the spiced wind.

The deeper in they went, the new décor became steadily more barbaric. In one corridor a line of corpses had been crudely nailed to a wall. There were dark stains below them on the floor. Blood and other fluids, Leora suspected. From the extent of the mess, at least some of the victims had been alive. Hooks and barbed spikes emerged here and there from the walls. Some of them were occupied. The character of the Mahaal was steadily becoming less that of a vast experiment in geometrical architecture and more of a sort of demented abattoir.

The more he saw of this pollution of his work, the twitchier Phelonas got. After a while, they only had to turn a corner and he would tense, hissing with barely-repressed anger. After they walked through one scene so grisly that Leora was forced to close her eyes as they passed, she heard him say, 'This little thug needs fixing! He doesn't understand what he has here! Worse, I don't think he even cares!'

Finally they came out into a large chamber. They were near the top – it extended far below them. All down the sides were little balconies with doorways behind them. Leora realised with a start that actually, the balconies weren't actually that little – the area they were stood on was also one of them, she realised.

The purpose of the vast chamber became clear a moment later. A smooth disk of clear crystal silently bobbed up into view at the end of the balcony. Without an apparent care in the world, their Khornate guide strode out onto it.

'Oh well,' Phelonas sighed. 'At least the elevator still works.' He walked toward the disc.

Somewhat unsure, Leora followed him.

The disc was steady and stable. She didn't feel any shift in it as she stepped onto it. It was reassuringly big too – about thirty feet wide. She walked toward the middle although she stopped before she got there. She had a feeling it might be prudent to keep Phelonas between her and the other Chaos Marine.

She looked down. It wasn't as much of a mistake as she feared. The crystal was translucent but not transparent. Some light percolated through but she couldn't really see the drop below.

Then the crystal moved.

It plunged silently downwards. Momentarily left behind, Leora felt her body and stomach lift up before she settled down again onto the surface. It was a dizzying lurch. The air was streaming up and past them in a sudden wind. It whistled audibly.

The disc was plummeting at huge speed. Leora watched as balcony after balcony streamed past them. She felt a surge of fear. Would the plunge actually stop? Or were they about to fall to their deaths? How exactly had Phelonas engineered this thing? Was it safe?

She glanced nervously at the berserker's back. Was anything safe here? Was the word even relevant?

There was another lurch. The disc abruptly decelerated. The whistle of the wind died away.

They were sat, still as ice, next to another balcony. Only there was a big, magnificent door beyond this one. It was carved with arcane runes and intricate knotwork designs. Alchemical symbols adorned its panels.

On either side of it were two more recent additions. It was flanked by a pair of long iron struts. Brass chains hung from sharp loops of iron set into the sides of the struts. On the end of each chain was a clutch of skulls. There were about half and half between human and alien. Also mixed in with them were a number of Space Marine helmets. These were all mounted prominently, with more care than any of the others.

'He likes to show those off,' Phelonas murmured to her. 'Any skull is nice, but one that belonged to a Marine is a particular prize.'

She shuddered.

'Quite,' Phelonas agreed. 'He is a vile brute.'

She noticed that there were also some horned helmets as well. 'So it's not just Loyalists?' she noted.

'No skull is off-limits for the Bloodtakers,' Phelonas said. 'They'd have to understand the difference between Loyalist and Traitor. And that would need a brain cell or two.'

The berserker was striding toward the double doors. They were high, Leora noted. They must be about forty feet, if not more. 'Where does this lead to?' she asked.

'We're directly above the Reading Room,' Phelonas said. 'Beyond those doors is a grand stairway. It spirals down to the floor of the room. That's where Tarrak holds his court.'

It was Phelonas's turn to shudder.

'Keep a lid on it,' she told him. 'I'd like to leave here, if you know what I mean.'

The berserker was at the door. He reached out and struck it with the butt of his axe. The doors, finally-balanced and well-engineered, swung silently inwards.

Light spilled out onto the balcony. As Phelonas had said, there was the top of the stairs. Leora could see down toward the floor of the room. And there was a gathering there.

The berserker turned to face them. 'The Lord of the Bloodtakers awaits you,' he growled. He raised his axe. 'Go there to face his judgement – or give your skull to Khorne!'

Leora felt Phelonas's free hand close around her wrist. She felt the ceramite lames of his gauntlet dig into her skin. 'Come on,' the sorcerer sighed. 'Let's get this sycophantic farce over with.'

They walked forwards, into the light.


	61. Chapter 61 A Taste of Blood

'Why not just build a new one?' she said suddenly, halfway down the stairs.

Phelonas's helmet regarded her, looking down. She saw herself reflected double in the eye-lenses. He was silent, except for the quiet clicking of his boots on the marble risers as they descended.

'I mean,' she said, 'you did it once, right?'

There was a longer pause. Then he said, 'Yes, I did. And it was the work of eight centuries. And countless sacrifices. So much blood! And so many daemons invoked. And some of the grimoires I used for reference - they were later in the library that Tarrak threw out the window.'

'Oh,' she said.

'It's easier to steal it back,' he said, 'then build a new Mahaal.'

They carried on walking. Ahead of them, their Khornate guide showed no sign of paying their chatter any attention. They offered no signs of imminent violence, and thus had little to hold his attention. Leora got the impression that the Traitor-Marine had half-forgotten that they were there.

The grand stairway swept out a curved path down into a land of madness and squalor. The elegant marble steps were scratched and smeared with dried streaks of blood. Each step down was a step further into grime and violence.

The former reading room was a vast, circular space. Around its edges were six enormous arched windows, looking out over the cloudscape beyond. Grand balconies extended out from them. They were large enough to be terraced. Some of them had even supported pocket gardens at one point. Now the paving slabs were cracked and the plants had all long since withered and died.

The reading room itself was not in a better state.

As they walked down the steps, Leora began to understand just how big it was. It was easily large enough to contain a good-sized Imperial cathedral, with room left over. As they neared the bottom of the stairs, she found that she was wheezing for breath. They must have descended through several hundred steps! She found herself half-expecting her ears to pop from the change in altitude.

The reading room had been laid out in several tiers. The tiers were still visible as concentric rings of floor, linked by flights of steps. The grand stairwell came down at the back of the highest and widest of the tiers.

The lowest and smallest tier had been fenced off, with a crude scaffolding of steel bars. The ramshackle latticework encircled the rim of the tier. From it sharp metal struts jutted up. All of them bore at least one head, and many of them had more.

'What's that for?' Leora asked Phelonas quietly.

'You'll see soon enough,' he replied enigmatically. He sounded world-weary, she noted.

The second and third tiers had the most activity. There were many Chaos Space Marines, some of them wearing the red and gold armour of the berserkers and some the blue and silver of Phelonas's Legion, moving back and forth. A smattering of other combinations were visible too, including a few whose colours and markings suggested that they had once been Loyalists. All of them wore the sign of the Blood God. Nervous looking cultist-slaves moved amongst the superhuman warriors, carrying flagons of ale and plates of food and fetching and carrying items. These were often weapons, Leora noticed. Many of the cultists bore visible marks of injury, some of them crudely-treated and some of them not. The air was heavy with a sense of barely-restrained violence and the place stank of fear and of rage. There was also an odour of sweat and of unwashed bodies.

The seething mass below was also a violent one. In the time it took Leora and Phelonas to complete the last fifty steps, she saw no less than five different acts of violence. She saw one berserker randomly grab a cultist and break the wretch's back over his leg – the body was tossed aside before the light had even faded from the terrified eyes. She saw another casually backhanded and flung to the ground. Two more were brutally decapitated with axes. In the final, and slightly more novel, case, a Chaos Marine pulled a bolt pistol on a cultist, shooting the man dead at close range.

She shuddered.

The reading room was full of noise. Angry shouts, hoarse bellows, the crack-thud of armoured fists, the angry growl of chainblades, the screaming of unexpecting victims and whimpers of pain and fear. It was not a good place.

Leora found herself moving through this cacophony. She had a strong stomach, but this was too much. It was as if she were withdrawing within her own head, as if she were watching everything from a great distance. She watched herself step gingerly amongst the detritus of broken skeletons, decomposed bodies and torn clothing that littered the floor. Here and there the pristine crystal shone through, gleaming like a ray of light from another world. It did nothing to detract from the horror and the filth that surrounded them. She watched herself as she scanned the walls, finally noting the metal spikes that had been hammered into place, and the chains and cages that hung from them. More of Tarrak's victims were contained within them. Some of them were even still alive.

'He surrounds himself with foulness,' she heard Phelonas remark quietly. 'Because he is foul too.'

'Is this some sort of game?' she heard herself saying, remembering Phelonas's remark about gladiatorial games.

The horned helmet shook from side to side: _no_. 'This, I gather, is what it's like most of the time. No more violent than usual.'

They were walking on the uppermost tier, which was relatively quiet. She looked down, toward the centre, where the bulk of the feasting and the violence was occurring.

She looked up again, toward the vaulted crystal ceiling far overheard. She suddenly thought that there was something oddly apt about this place. It seemed to showcase two different extremes of Chaos. On the one hand there was Phelonas's handiwork, with its dark enlightenment and its inhuman elegance. And then there was Tarrak's brutal violence and overt cruelty. How the two could in some sense be part of the same thing, she wasn't sure she understood. She thought again of Phelonas's geometrical analogy – surely this scene must be the product of two entirely-different sets of axioms?

'Aah,' Phelonas said. 'Here they come.' He pointed.

A double-line of red-armoured Traitor-Marines was filing toward them.

'It seems Tarrak has noticed us,' Phelonas said.

Something crunched under her foot. She made the mistake of looking down. Her foot had just stepped on a skull. It had been there so long it had become brittle. Fragments of bone surrounded her shoe.

Hurriedly, she looked up again. 'Are you sure?' she said. 'Perhaps they just want our skulls, you know, to add to their pile?'

'That is a possibility,' Phelonas allowed.

That was not reassuring! Leora shivered. She found herself clutching the Raven's helmet, as if it were a sort of bizarre comfort blanket. She looked at the scene around her and listened to the sounds of madness and terror emanating from the lower tiers. The pounding of fists, harsh, guttural voices, the crunch of bone. For a moment, she felt herself quail. Was this really what she wanted to do? Was bringing this to Delta – this madness, this _chaos_ - really the right thing to do? Was this really the correct way to deal with her grief? Did her grief give her a right to inflict this murderous violence on other people?

Were all the faults those of society, or was she wrong too?

She looked down at the helmet, reminding herself of all the things she hated. Once more, she felt the heat of that little flare of pure loathing. It warmed her. Strength and purpose returned, smothering away her moment of weak indecision.

Phelonas had stopped. She stopped too.

The Chaos Marines approached. They fanned out around the two of them. She and Phelonas were suddenly surrounded.

One of them gave an impression of being in charge. He wasn't wearing his helmet. His face was ancient, marked with savage scars. An ear was missing, as was one eye. The eye had been replaced by a glittering metal prosthetic. Both it and his remaining organic eye were as cold as ice. She also noticed that one of his arms was prosthetic too – metal struts and cables and wires sprouted from underneath his left shoulder pad, a complicated mass of mechanism that formed a substitute limb. This marine wore the mark of Khorne on one shoulder, but his suit was blue and silver, like Phelonas's. In his other hand he was gripping the handle of a massive chain-axe.

The Chaos Marine ignored her. He was glaring at Phelonas. 'You,' he said, his voice dripping with pure contempt.

'Me,' Phelonas agreed with affable sarcasm. 'You look well, Skiryc. I mean, aside from all the bits you're missing, that is. Still not found where your arm went?'

Skiryc growled. His biological eye promised violence. 'Watch your words, sorcerer!'

'You might try behind the sofa,' Phelonas said cheerfully. 'It's surprising what gets down there. You can get off the sofa still, can't you? Oh good, you do still have your legs. Try to hang onto them, all right? They are so useful.'

Skiryc's face spasmed. She noticed the chain-axe twitch. 'Do not insult me, worm! You will-'

'Yes, yes, I'm sure my suffering will be great.' Phelonas actually sounded bored by the display! He was clearly not even slightly intimidated. 'Look, why don't we skip the empty-threats ritual? I'm hardly going to scare you, and frankly, you don't scare me either. No, why don't you just take me to see your owner, like we both know you're going to? You wouldn't want to cross Khorne's man on earth, would you Skiryc? Even you wouldn't cross the mighty Lord Tarrak – would you?'

Skiryc's face twitched again. For an instant, there was nothing except a mindless bloodlust in his eyes. But then it appeared that he somehow reasserted control of himself. 'I will take you to him,' the Chaos Marine growled, 'and maybe he will let me gnaw on your bones!'

Phelonas sighed, apparently underwhelmed by the melodrama. 'Lead on,' he said. 'Frankly, you're so tedious that I can't even be bothered to insult you properly. You haven't got any more interesting since the last time we met – even if you do have less and less of your original body! Still, there's hope yet. You might manage to lose that tedious mouth too! There's still time.'

Skiryc growled, then spun round and stomped away. Phelonas ambled after him. Not sure what else to do, Leora allowed herself to be dragged along.

The ring of berserkers accompanied them.

It quickly became apparent that the berserker ring was actually a sort of bodyguard rather than a threat. As they moved around the tier, they came into a more active region of the standing brawl. Within moments, the berserkers were ploughing through a field of random fighting. She saw blades flash and heard axes crack on armour. Around them were bellows of rage and the sounds of violence. The sharp scent of blood filled the air. Movement swirled around them. Leora purposely kept her eyes locked straight ahead, not allowing herself to see the fighting around them.

Then, as soon as they entered it, they were suddenly free of it. She looked around, and then she noticed something. The ring of Chaos Marines - there was one less berserker than there had been a moment ago. Had one of them died, or had the call of the standing brawl been too much? She allowed herself to glance back at the seething scrum behind them, but she didn't recognise anyone. It was, she acknowledged, hard to tell the berserkers apart.

Leora realised that, had they come this way on their own, she and Phelonas would have been unlikely to survived this far.

They were led all the way around the outer tier, to the far side. Over here, some more ghosts of Phelonas's legacy still lingered on. Some battered, damaged bookcases still stood, lined up against the back wall. They shelves bore no books, however. Instead they were lined with proudly-displayed Space Marine helmets. The emphasis was definitely on Loyalist warriors, but plenty of xeno trophies were present as well. The Bloodtakers weren't particularly picky in whom they fought.

And, beyond the bookcases, there was a throne. This piece of furniture was not Phelonas's work. It was a crude structure, built of bands of iron and brass. The iron was stained with red rust. It was raised up on an improvised dais, made of blocks of crystal that had been hacked from the walls. When Phelonas saw that defilement, he growled, a long, slow sound of pure anger.

Sat on top of the ugly throne was Tarrak himself.

'Well that's interesting,' Phelonas mused quietly. 'Seems Tarrak's gone up in the world since I last saw him. He's stolen himself a Terminator suit!'

The marine on the throne was wearing a different sort of armour. It looked bulkier and blockier than Phelonas's. The shoulder pads were bigger and positioned higher up. The plates were deep blue and edged with silver trim and occasional spikes. Like Phelonas, one shoulder had the odd three-snakes symbol. The other was marked with a large, grinning, silver skull.

'He looks like he's wearing a fridge,' Leora said.

'You're right,' Phelonas said, 'but don't say that to his face. You wouldn't want to injure his vanity, would you?'

In one hand, Tarrak was gripping a massive storm bolter. Contorted daemonic faces had been wrought in brass around the barrel of the gun, as if its ammunition was vomited from the bowels of the Warp itself. Tarrak's other hand gripped a massive, double-headed chain axe. It was decorated with bronze trimmings. Bits of torn bone and fragments of meat were stuck amongst its cold metallic teeth.

'And isn't that interesting?' Phelonas whispered to her as they approached the throne. 'It seems Khorne is pulling harder on the leash now! Daemons!'

Tarrak wasn't alone on top of the dais. With him were two – two things. Leora wasn't sure what else to call them. They were approximately human-shaped but they had lumpy, misshapen bodies. Their legs were digitigrade, ending in cloven hooves. Their hands were marked with savage claws. Their hides were lumpy and rough like leather, but red as blood. Leering, fanged mouths grinned within evil, inhuman faces. Coldly unsympathetic eyes glared truculently from under heavy brows. Both of the daemons were clutching at long, black swords.

'Bloodletters,' Phelonas mused. 'Seems Khorne doesn't trust Tarrak to bring him enough skulls anymore. Well, well, well.'

Their escort of Traitor-Marines had reached the foot of the throne. The circle of Berserkers split at the front, peeling away on either side. Suddenly Leora and Phelonas found themselves stood between a line of berserkers and the throne. There was, Leora noted, no-one between them and the daemons. The daemons leered hungrily.

The other Chaos Marine – Skyric – stepped forward. He bowed to the figure on the throne, dropping down to one knee. 'Noble Lord and Master,' he fawned.

Next to her, Phelonas growled quietly. A hand drifted toward the hilt of his blade.

'Not now,' Leora hissed at him.

Phelonas didn't look at her but the growl stopped and the hand moved slightly back.

'Noble lord.' Skyric was still busy fawning. 'Taker of skulls. Releaser of blood. Favoured of Khorne.'

'What do you want, worm?' A voice emerged from the figure sat on the throne. It – he – moved. Leora hadn't fully believed there actually was a person inside the blocky suit until now, but she saw the figure shift a bit.

'Noble lord,' Skyric continued, voice smooth with carefully-modulated adoration, 'these fools seek an audience. I brought them here, so you could have the pleasure of shedding their blood.'

The daemons twitched and their heads lifted up. Leora saw one set of nostrils flare, as if the beast was tasting the air.

The faceplate of the terminator suit turned in their direction. 'I know you,' the voice said. Tarrak was addressing Phelonas, she realised. 'You! How dare you show yourself here! What gall is this?'

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'It's me. And I'm here to offer you something.'

'The only thing you'll offer,' Tarrak growled, 'is your head!'

'I'm offering blood and skulls,' Phelonas said. 'Astartes blood and Astartes skulls.'

Suddenly every head turned in their direction. Even Skyric was distracted from his sycophantic adulation. The daemons too were looking at Phelonas. Leora noted with some interested that apparently they did have some comprehension of spoken language.

'You offer me what?' Tarrak asked. His voice was rasping and deep. Leora remembered a patient at the hospital, a man who'd smoked heavily for thirty years. When he'd spoken, his wrecked lungs had produced a sound like that.

'Blood and skulls,' Phelonas repeated. 'Space Marine blood and skulls. What more could you want? Surely the mighty lord of the Bloodtakers must be interested?'

The Chaos Marines around them were all leaning closer, gripping their weapons tightly. Leora couldn't see many faces but the postures suggested fascination. All around them, the diffuse light gleamed on the gold trimmings on their armour and the brass markings on their weapons.

'And where are these skulls?' Tarrak asked, sound contemptuous. 'I don't see any skulls – just a weakling sorcerer and a feeble human!'

_Feeble human_. Leora realised she'd just been insulted by a Space Marine.

For an instant she was back there, beside the river. The bells in the distance … the spire, outlined against the night … the cool wind … the moonlight on the water … and inside her that fire, that all-consuming flare of hatred. That blazing light of rage and pain and betrayal and grief and the burning need for revenge.

She realised her eyes had locked on Tarrak's face-plate. She realised she felt no fear at all – just complete, searing hate for him and everything like him. She could feel it – a desperate need to strike back. And then it came to her – an obvious way to humiliate the dumb bastard!

She felt herself walking forward. Everyone was looking at her. She was the centre of attention. She heard Phelonas speak; 'Leora! Come back!' She ignored him, walking forward. She stopped when she was halfway to the throne.

She kept her eyes focused on Tarrak the whole time. Far from guttering, the flame of hatred only burned stronger. It was like a bonfire insider her. She luxuriated in its warmth. In an odd flash of rationality, she noted that she'd never felt it as strongly as this.

That said, she'd never been surrounded by this many Space Marines before. Phelonas – well, Phelonas was so thoroughly a thought-criminal that she had trouble thinking of him as any sort of Space Marine. Phelonas was his own person. These genetically-engineered, axe-wielding freaks, however – they thought themselves traitors. They thought themselves different. They thought themselves so impressive. But they weren't. Deep down, she thought, they were just the same. Just the same contemptible, brainwashed killing-machines. Futile, pointless entities acting out an empty parody of life. They were worthless. They were nothing. She hated them, all of them, and she drew no distinction between Loyalist and Traitor. They were merely the differing faces of the same coin. And that coin she wanted melted down, liquefied, destroyed.

'What is this?' Tarrak asked, faceplate pointed at her.

Briefly jerked back to reality, she noted that the daemons were looking at her as well. Unreadable, alien expressions were written across their faces, but their inhuman eyes were locked firmly onto her. For a moment, she glared right back at one of them, as if to say, _You too_!

She looked back to Tarrak. She noted a spike rising from the top of his suit. It had three skulls impaled on it. Such a cheap, dull, uninspired display! He meant to terrify with this, did he? Well she had other ideas. It wasn't terrifying, it was pathetic. A desperate cry for attention by an inadequate and diseased mind.

The bonfire of hate flared up again, deep within her. She noted from the corner of her eyes that the daemons both shivered. She wondered if they could somehow feel her hate. It would be no stranger than anything else around her.

She looked back at Tarrak.

'You sit there,' she said to him, 'on that silly throne. You dare to question us – us! But I note a question you don't ask.'

'And what would that be, worm?' Tarrak asked. His voice was cold, rasping and angry.

'You ask where the skulls are,' she said. 'But you didn't ask what that feeble human was carrying.'

She lofted the helmet above her head. The light caught on the metal of the respirator-grill, gleaming brightly. 'Behold!' she said. 'A skull – for your throne.'

She tipped the helmet up. The withered head fell out. It hit the dirtied-crystal floor with a thump. She kicked it forward, like a profane football. It rolled up to the first step of dais, where it lay, staring up with lifeless eyes.

From all around, she heard breath being drawn in. The Chaos Marines were all staring at the head. She knew this was reckless. She knew this was dangerous. She knew this was stupid – she was deliberately, consciously trying to provoke a Chaos Marine!

But best of all, she also knew that she didn't care. The acid words felt good. The bile kept flowing from her mouth.

'Elsewhere,' she said, 'there are plenty more where that came from. An entire Chapter. A thousand Space Marines. All the blood you could want, and all the skulls for the taking! All that on offer, and you don't even have the wit to listen!' She let her eyes lock back on Tarrak's faceplate. 'Not so much a snake,' she said, glancing at his shoulder-pads, 'but a worm, I think. A worm that's apparently content to lie in its burrow.'

She heard Tarrak's breath hiss. What more blatant, naked challenge to his authority could you want? She had just questioned his power over his army – in front of them! How would he respond to this?

There was one last opportunity to rub it in. The need rushed through Leora, like the heat of a fire. 'Well?' she asked. 'What's it to be? Are you a worm, or are you a lord?'

For a moment there was a tense silence. Every eye migrated to Tarrak, awaited his response. Then, to her astonishment, Tarrak started making a weird hacking noise. For a second or two she thought he was choking on his tongue. Then she realised it was laughter. He was laughing! He thought it was _funny_!

The hate burned hotter than ever, flames tinged with a fresh surge of rage. How dare this beast laugh at her? How dare -?

Then she noted that the daemons were still looking at her, not him.

What? Why were they looking at her? Leora's building sense of rage ploughed into a snowdrift of surprised confusion. The impact filled her mind with a fog of bafflement. She felt the hate subside somewhat. Why were they looking at her? She wasn't even armed! She had no idea why she might attract their attention.

Their eyes turned back to Tarrak. She supposed they must just have been slow on the uptake.

After a moment or two, Tarrak got his hilarity back under control. 'Well,' he said, looking at Phelonas, 'it seems like you've got a rare gem here.'

Leora bridled at being called a rare gem.

'She is unique,' Phelonas agreed. He sounded puzzled, and there was something suspicious in his posture as he looked in her direction.

'But is this true?' Tarrak asked. 'You're offering the Bloodtakers a chapter?'

Phelonas nodded. 'Yes.'

'What's in it for you?' Tarrak asked, sounding suspicious.

Phelonas shrugged. 'The marines in question – they're in my way. I need them killed. I thought you might be interested. I get to lose an annoying obstacle, you get more skulls. Doubtless Khorne would greatly honour the crusher of a Chapter.'

'An entire Chapter,' Tarrak mused. 'That is tempting. But … how? Tell me, sorcerer! You tempt me, but I don't trust you. You seem an unlikely ally.'

Phelonas shrugged. 'Nor should you. But you needn't fear – I'm offering alliance. Merely mutual self-interest. You can rely on me to act in my own best interests. And in this, our self-interests surely coincide.'

'But how can you destroy a whole Chapter?' Tarrak asked.

'We came here through a gate,' Phelonas said. 'It opens onto the Storm Ravens' homeworld.'

'Resistance would surely be fierce there,' Tarrak mused.

'The greater the fighting,' Phelonas said, 'the greater the bloodshed. And the more blood shed, the more pleased Khorne will be. And anyway, the Ravens are vulnerable now. Most of their forces are away from the homeworld, only starting to return now. The planet itself is in turmoil – I've been laying some plans, you see. The authorities, such as they are, will be completely distracted.'

'Why?' Tarrak asked.

Phelonas shrugged modestly. 'I've engineered the collapse of the economy, and the local government,' he said. 'Plus there's a bunch of local idiot-cultists who will help out. So the time is now. The Ravens' fortress is undermanned and beset by trouble. A quick strike could break through. Take control of its guns. Then slaughter their fleet as it arrives home.'

Tarrak was quiet. Then he said, 'But even a dead Chapter might rise again. The geneseed, after all, may survive.'

'We have a plan for that as well,' Phelonas said. 'My companion here has a deep knowledge of the medical arts.' He gestured to Leora.

'She also has a shrewish tongue,' Tarrak remarked.

'Thank you,' Leora said sharply, 'but I am here, you know.' She hefted the helmet and threw it at him. It smacked into one of Tarrak's greaves and clanged off, clattering to the ground a few feet away. 'And I'm not interested in being talked about like I don't exist. For the record, the geneseed thing is in hand. We've got a thing-'

She had been about to explain about the retrovirus and how it destabilised genomic error-checking by triggering a demented orgy of transposon migration. Using the geneseed's own internal genetic logic to scramble it into uselessness. Then she realised that neither Tarrak nor his berserkers would understand a word.

'Basically,' she said, 'it pisses in the geneseed water supply. It'll never be good to drink again.'

To her surprise, Tarrak merely nodded. 'Very well,' he said. He looked back at Phelonas. 'But your presence here, sorcerer – that I doubt! I know you want this place back. And I know how far you can be trusted.'

Phelonas sighed. 'So you're going to turn down my offer? You're going to turn down battle and slaughter?'

'No,' Tarrak said. 'I'm going to seek judgement on you.'

Phelonas tilted his head to one side. 'What can you possibly mean by that?' he said.

Tarrak looked at one of the daemons. He gestured forward with his storm bolter. To Phelonas, he said, 'Simple. If you live, Khorne shows you his favour.'

The daemon unfolded from its crouch. It sprung down from the dais. An unholy urgency blazed in its eyes. It raised its blade.

In its haste it ran right past Leora. She actually felt the heat radiating from its body. She also smelt it – it had an irony tang, like old blood.

There was a hiss of metal as Phelonas drew his own sword. The daemon leapt at him, its notched blade lashing out.

Phelonas stepped back. The blade swept through the space he had just occupied. He was holding his sword out in front of him, one hand on the hilt, one hand gripping the metal. The runes were blazing, Leora noted.

Phelonas fainted to the left. The daemon dived forward. It brought its sword up, as if it were about to strike. Phelonas moved to parry-

The daemon kicked him.

Leora heard the clack as the hoof collided with the ceramite of Phelonas's greave. It kicked hard. The sorcerer staggered backwards.

Now the daemon struck. The black sword whirled down in a brutal overarm stroke. For a moment Leora thought it had him.

Phelonas, still trying to regain his footing, caught a glimpse of the falling blade. He dropped to the floor. He landed with a heavy clunk, rolling to one side.

The blade slammed down into the crystalline floor. Leora heard a glassy shriek as crystal fractured. A jagged crack was rent open in the floor, the end of the blade vanishing some way into it.

The daemon grunted, struggling to free its blade.

Phelonas rolled himself to one side. With a rattle of armour-plate he leapt back onto his feet. Now he swung his own blade. And he didn't miss. Daemon-sword met daemon-flesh. Leora saw the edge of the blade bite into the lumpy red skin. Inhuman ichor spurted out of the wound.

The Bloodletter howled – not with pain but with rage.

With a savage wrench it jerked its blade free of the crystal floor. It whipped round, clutching the hilt in one hand. As it turned Phelonas's sword was torn free of the daemon's arm. The arm flopped back, apparently damaged.

Quick as lightning, the daemon's blade flashed up. It scythed toward Phelonas's shoulder. At the last possible moment, the sorcerer turned. He couldn't make the blade miss, there wasn't time. But by turning himself, he made the flat of the blade collide with his shoulder pad rather than the edge.

Instead of it digging in, and maybe through, Phelonas was instead bowled over. He hit the floor with a clatter of ceramite and rolled away again.

The daemon staggered. The flat of the sword had skittered up along the curve of the shoulder pad and had swung back into clear air. Momentarily unbalanced, the daemon struggled to regain its footing.

Phelonas had rolled someway to the side. But – what was this? Leora stared in shock. Phelonas had dropped his sword! It had fallen off to the side! It was now a good couple of metres away. As Leora watched, the glowing runes faded back into cold metal.

Phelonas realised his blade was gone at the same moment she did. The daemon turned and looked at him. Something evil leered on its face, a hungry expression. Raising its blade, it stepped forward.

Phelonas's bolter was in his hand. It barked, a loud staccato burst. The sound echoed around them. Leora watched muzzle flashes flare. She smelt the sharp cordite scent. She watched the bolts slam into the daemon's body. Little spurts of ichor erupted from it.

The daemon kept moving forward. Leora frowned. Phelonas was shooting it! It should be in pieces on the ground! After that many shots, a human would be dead. Even if they somehow weren't, even a clip from a single bolt should be enough to put the body into hydrostatic shock. Bark, bark, bark, spoke the bolter. And yet the thing still walked forward, alien, implacable. Certainly it was damaged, she could see that – but was it damaged enough?

It lumbered forward. It was closing the gap on Phelonas. He was, she realised, in trouble. Surely it had to die soon? How could anything be this immune to bolts?

This could be it, she realised. It might kill Phelonas.

And that would be utterly inconvenient for her plans.

Leora looked around, frantically trying to decide what to do. Then her eyes latched onto Phelonas's sword. She was closer to it than he was.

A mad idea leapt into her mind. It was utterly insane – but she was moving before doubt even began to emerge. She felt the soles of her shoes, slapping on the crystal floor. She felt the air flowing past her face as she ran. She felt her hair stream behind her. Breathing in deep gasps, she smelt her surroundings, the fetid odours of rage, fear and rot that pervaded this place and that weird, sharper odour of the daemons. She caught a glimpse of gleaming eye-lenses in blood-red helmets, as the Chaos Marines abruptly noticed her sudden run.

None of it mattered. None of it was relevant to her goal.

A moment later, she reached the sword. Not allowing herself to hesitate, she reached down and grabbed for the hilt. Her fingers closed on the leather-wrapped grip-

She gasped. It was like an electric shock, coursing down her arm. Like a spike of pure voltage, straight into her brain. For a moment, the room exploded into synaesthetic chaos. She smelt red and gold and saw the feel of crystal and heard the smell of daemonic ichor. She tasted fear and rage and chaos.

Then she felt the thing that lived in Phelonas's blade.

It was, she saw, in some way akin to the thing that was attacking him. But it was also something else. It was different in some other way. And it had no love for the other daemon – in some way, she realised, they were enemies.

The instant of neural chaos had passed. While her hand held the blade, Leora's brain was connected in some weird way to the daemon, she realised. That had triggered the burst of synaesthesia – her nervous system had experienced a moment of total confusion, as a new and alien set of inputs had flooded into it.

The daemon, she sensed straight away, didn't like her at all. It didn't want her holding it, it didn't want her near it. She wasn't mentioned in the pact that bound it. She was an intruder, a trespasser. She felt the blade grow hot and heavy in her hand. She felt it reaching for her nervous system, trying to claw its way into her motor cortex. It was trying to induce a spasm in her tendons, to make her cast the blade away.

But, she realised she could reach back.

She looked up at the Bloodletter up ahead. And through her eyes, the blade-daemon saw it too. Suddenly the hilt was cool and the blade light, perfectly poised in her closed hand!

For a prize like this, the daemon was willing to overlook its enmity to her.

She raised it up above her head. It was a clumsy and poorly-aimed stroke, and any competent swordsman would have laughed at her for exposing her chest like that. But the Bloodletter was facing away from her, looming over Phelonas. It was distracted. And the blade-daemon was now helping, rather than obstructing.

The sword swung down. The runes blazed into an eager violet light. They dazzled her eyes.

Tzeentchian blade met Khornate hide.

Both daemons howled. Leora drove the eager blade deep into the Bloodletter's body. Ichor bubbled out. She felt it splash all over her face and her front. To her disgust, she realised some had even got into her mouth!

It tasted hot and coppery, like hate.

The blade tore through the Khornate daemon. Ripped in half, its two segments flopped apart. Losing her balance, Leora fell over. The blade dropped out of her hand, clattering onto the floor.

She landed on top of Phelonas with a thump. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Feeling stunned and dazed, she off rolled to one side, collapsing onto the ichor-splattered crystal.

Phelonas sat up. His helmet regarded her. 'Well,' he said, 'that was a handy intervention.'

He reached out and picked up the sword. He looked back at Tarrak. 'Well?' he asked. 'Does that pass your test?'

Tarrak and the Bloodtakers had been watching all of this with rapt fascination.

'That was entertaining,' Tarrak remarked.

'Well,' Phelonas said, 'I'm glad you enjoyed your sport.' There was an edge of sarcasm to his words.

'If you can come here, sorcerer,' Tarrak said, 'how can I ever feel free of your blight?'

Phelonas regarded him silently for a moment. Then he said, 'If you help me crush the Ravens … I'll show you how to manipulate the boundary. The liminal zone.'

There was a moment of quiet. Then Tarrak said, 'That would mean I could close you out of the Mahaal. Forever.'

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'You would be its master in fact as well as in name. You could make portals whenever you chose, sacrifices allowing. You could choose who comes and goes. That's what I'm offering you. Right now, my masterpiece is effectively your prison. Instead, it could be your fortress.'

With a rattle of armour, he stood up.

Leora was getting her breath back. Ignoring the Chaos Marines, she sat up. The exertion of the last few minutes had calmed her down. The previous sense of hate and rage had abated – or at least, it had abated as far as it ever did. She thought back at what she'd just done and she boggled at her own audacity. Attacking a daemon? With Phelonas's own sword? What madness was this?

She looked at her hand, carefully massaging the palm. It all seemed as it should. She didn't feel any different. It seemed she'd got away with her crazy actions.

Beside her lay part of the Bloodletter's carcass. She could hear the Chaos Marines talking, but she ignored their chatter. Curiosity building, she looked closely at the carcass. She was a doctor by training; she had a certain intellectual interest in the innards of things. And how often would you get to examine the insides of a daemon?

The blade had sliced a clean cross-section through it. It should have been the perfect dissection, an anatomical revelation. Instead all she saw was a sort of undifferentiated, untextured meat. The ichor seemed to be oozing out of it, but not from anywhere in particular. No capillaries, no arteries, no organs. She wasn't looking at any kind of conventional living creature.

'No internal structure,' she mused, intrigued. 'No bones.'

She looked at the puddle of ichor beside the chopped corpse. There was less of it than there should be. In fact, the puddle was shrinking! It was as if it were evaporating before her eyes, but it was evaporating far too fast. It was as if the fluid was simply ceasing to be. Now that she looked, she realised that the entire corpse was sagging away, as if the whole thing was dwindling away. The diminution of material did not appear to be leaving any kind of residue.

'No internal structure,' she said to herself again. 'That's why the bullets didn't really hurt it. No bones to shatter. No blood volume for hydrostatic shock. No tendons to tear.' That was strange – the creatures had looked bony and muscular, but perhaps that was just surface appearance? 'So to kill these things you have to chop them up. Disable them mechanically. Interesting.'

'What?'

She realised someone had just spoken to her. She looked up. It was Phelonas. He was still holding the sword, but he had half-turned to look at her.

'What was that?' he asked her.

'Oh,' she said. She waved a hand at the subsiding corpse. 'I just realised. It's not made out of matter, is it? Or at least, not in the way we are. And that's why it's evaporating. Now that it's dead.'

Phelonas nodded. 'It's a daemon. Psychic energy, sort of made flesh. A representation of rage and violence, if you will.'

'But if it's a personification of violence,' she asked, 'then how can it die?'

'Being killable,' Phelonas said, 'is part of what violence is about. So the daemon itself has to be killable too. There is a logic of sorts to these things.'

'But if we're in the Warp,' she said, 'why is it, you know, disappearing? Isn't this where these things live?'

'When I built this realm,' Phelonas said, 'I rigged the local physics to make it hostile to daemons. Like our physical universe, in fact. They can exist here, but only in a contained form. I did it because I didn't fancy getting lots of unannounced visitors – particularly of the unholy-spirit variety.' He paused, then added, 'How are you feeling?'

'Why do you care?' she asked, feeling a sudden flicker of ire.

Phelonas was quiet for a moment. Then he said, 'It might be important. Tell me, did you actually touch the daemon?'

'That?' She looked at the remains of the Bloodletter. 'No.'

'Are you sure?' Phelonas asked.

'Yes,' she said.

He nodded. 'Okay, then. Good. You were holding my blade – that was between you and it. It would have shielded you.' He turned back to Tarrak.

Whatever had he meant by that, she wondered.

'So,' she heard Phelonas say to Tarrak, 'what's your answer?'

'Yes,' she heard Tarrak say. 'Yes, the Bloodtakers will claim these Ravens' skulls! Yes, this once, we will aid you.'

The Chaos Marines started up a chant. 'SKULLS FOR THE THRONE! SKULLS FOR THE THRONE! SKULLS FOR THE THRONE!' They were waving their weapons over their heads, lost in bloodthirsty enthusiasm.

The sound washed over Leora. She sat there, arms hunched around her legs. She felt strange. She hadn't touched the daemon. She hadn't touched it!

But she remembered the taste of the ichor in her mouth.


	62. Chapter 62 Getting Some Exercise

'It's a tree!' said Nasty.

'Yes,' Patreus said, 'it is indeed a tree. Well done, Nasty.'

Alaster stared at the shape that was extruding itself out of the printer. 'Umm,' he said, 'I think it might actually be plastic.'

'No it isn't,' Nasty said. 'Look!' He took his chainsword and tapped the blade against the bark. There was a growl and little splinters of wood sprayed out.

'NASTY! STOP IT!' Kodos's bellow carried over the din of the assembly room. Nasty twitched guiltily and lifted his chainsword from the trunk.

Kodos strode over, his boots clanking on the metal decking. He was scowling. The overhead lights gleamed on his replacement eye. 'For skak's sake,' he said, glaring at Nasty. 'How many times have you got to be told – you're here to carry the skakking trees, not chop them up!'

'Sorry, Sergeant.' Nasty's expression reminded Alaster of one he'd seen on a dog once, behind the apartment block where his family had lived. He'd caught the dog scavenging in the bins. It had looked guilty, but in that 'Oh dear, I've been caught' way, rather than the 'Oh dear, whatever have I done?' way. Nasty's expression definitely showed the former. 'Hey, why are we carrying these skakking trees, anyway?'

'Because the landscape needs assembling,' Kodos growled, 'for the exercise.'

'But couldn't the servitors do that?' Nasty asked.

'Yes they could,' Kodos said, 'but they're not doing it. You're doing it instead – because you skakking well need the exercise!' He nodded at the extruding tree. 'Oh, you might want to catch that. If it falls on your boot and gets damaged, you'll have to skakking wait for the next one!'

There was a rumble from the machine as the upper branches folded out of the printer's aperture. 'Quick!' Alaster said.

The forcefield that was holding the tree up shimmered and vanished. Moving fast, the three Space Marines managed to catch the tree just before it fell to the decking.

Kodos nodded. 'Okay. Now get that skakking thing to the training chamber.' He turned and walked off, heading off toward one of the other printers. Over there, Sandrer, Fegust and Eorvan were waiting for some boulders to print off.

Nasty, Alaster and Patreus started carrying the tree toward the assembly chamber's door. The Tech-Priests and Enginseers overseeing the chamber were used to the bizarre spectacle of fully-armed Space Marines carrying fake trees around. The Adepts of Mars barely gave them a second glance.

There was a rasping noise on the decking.

'The end's drooping,' Patreus said.

'That's more detail than we needed, Brother,' Nasty said.

'No, I meant the tree!'

Alaster looked. It was, too. They were heaving the freshly-printed conifer out of the room, but the end of it was tipping down. 'Okay, we need to spread out,' he said. 'Patreus, you take the end. I'll take the middle. Nasty, you've got the roots.'

'Why do I always get the skakking roots?' Nasty groused. Nevertheless he shifted down the length of the trunk even as he complained.

'You get them,' Alaster told him, 'because you're the strongest. So it makes sense to give you the heaviest weights.'

Nasty's complaining was stilled as he tried to unpick that one. After a moment, he said, 'Brother Alaster, I'm not skakking sure what you mean by that.'

Patreus had to muffle a snigger. 'Take it as a compliment, Brother,' he said. 'I'm sure that's what Brother Alaster meant.'

Alaster shifted himself to his position, along the middle of the trunk. They were well-spaced now - the tree was about twenty feet long.

The three Space Marines manoeuvred the fake tree out into the corridor. They began to make their way toward the training chamber. The tree bowed and shook as they walked. Alaster couldn't help but notice that they were leaving a trail of pine needles behind them.

'You know,' Patreus said, 'isn't it amazing that we can fake up trees like this? I mean, trees, you know? This thing only started printing fifteen minutes ago!'

'I'd be more impressed,' Nasty said, 'if it was a bit skakking lighter!'

Twenty feet of tree did add up to a respectable amount of wood, Alaster had to acknowledge. It wasn't really the weight that was the problem, though. It was more its awkward distribution, with branches and pine needles and roots and numerous sticky-out bits. The tree's limbs were dragging along the floor, despite the marines' best efforts.

'I guess it's interesting,' Alaster said, 'to see how they actually set up the training environments.'

'We didn't carry any skakking trees at the Ravenholme,' Nasty said.

'A skakking tree,' Patreus said. 'Now there's a disturbing idea!'

Alaster ignored Patreus's intervention. 'The training grounds are permanent at fortresses,' he said. 'But there isn't enough room on shipboard. Not for every environment we'd need. So they do it this way instead.' Plus also there was a work-out involved. Actually, Alaster suspected that might be half the point of assembling the environment by hand.

'When we were in there last,' Nasty said, 'it didn't need the icebergs carting in by hand!'

'Yeah but that was just water and weather effects,' Alaster pointed out. 'It didn't need any plants and stuff.'

The tree wasn't actually alive. It wouldn't take root or grow, or spread any saplings. However, it was compositionally-accurate – they were carrying leaves, wood and sap, even if they were inert. The tree only needed to last long enough to add some realism to the Ravens' training environment. Once the exercise was done, whatever was left of the landscape would be scraped up, ground, pulped, mulched and liquefied and pumped back to the mass-storage tanks.

'Watch out,' Patreus said. 'There's a corner coming up!'

They had to take the tree around the bend. It emerged that the turning circle on a tree was rather large. In fact, the three Ravens had to bend the trunk a bit to get it past. 'Don't twist it too much!' Alaster said. 'Kodos won't be happy if it snaps!'

Nasty said, 'Kodos can skakking well – aargh!'

'He can aargh?' Patreus asked.

Alaster tried not to laugh. As they moved the tree around the corner, one of the branches had dragged on the wall, tensing up. Then it had snapped loose, backhanding Nasty across the face as it did.

Nasty was scowling.

'Behold the mighty Astartes champion,' Patreus said, 'laid low by a tree!'

'And a fake one at that,' Alaster added.

Nasty sighed. Nasty shook his head. 'Come on – let's get this thing moved, before the tree goes for you as well!'

'Who knew trees could be so dangerous?' Patreus said, perhaps not entirely seriously.

After some more arboreal haulage, the Ravens found themselves inside the training hall. The basic terrain had already been laid. A dense, loamy soil, forming a sort of uneven pocket valley, bracketing a small river. The water was already flowing, courtesy of a slight gradient and some well-concealed pumps and plumbing. One end of the hall was simulating a rock face, extending out onto the right-hand edge of the valley. The opposite end of the valley, and the left-hand wall, were to be forested. Trees were being planted in various places, just as Nasty, Alaster and Patreus deposited theirs into its hole.

Moments later, twenty feet of tree towered over them.

'So what's the idea with this?' Patreus said, looking around.

'I don't know,' Alaster admitted. 'Kodos is being close-lipped about what this is all for.'

'Care to take a guess?' Patreus asked.

'I don't know if I should. I mean, am I treading on Command's secrets, or something?'

'Have you been ordered not to speculate?' Patreus asked.

'Err, no.'

'Then I reckon the Emperor would allow you a go or two,' Patreus said.

Alaster shook his head, slightly amused. 'It's good having you back, Brother,' he said.

'That's true,' Nasty agreed.

Alaster looked back at the terrain. He took a deep breath, and was somewhat surprised. Apparently the printers even got the smells more or less right. The training chamber did smell a bit like alpine woodland should. There was a whiff of pine pollen in the air, and the scents of mud and running water.

Down below, he could hear the stream tinkling in its bed.

He looked around. This edge of the forest, close to the wall, was atop a low rise. Shortly beyond the marines' position, the land rolled away into the valley. It bottomed out at the stream, and then curved back up. It carried on curing up to the right until the rockfront broke up and away from it. It was meant to resemble a little pocket glade, sat on the lower slopes of a mountain.

'The land over there's higher,' Alaster noted. It was true. The mountainous side of the valley rose much higher than the forested one did. 'And there are going to be lots of boulders and stuff – look, there's some of them already!'

'Lucky Sandrer and Fegust,' Nasty said. 'Getting to hump rocks about!'

'That's lucky?' Patreus asked.

'Yeah, course it is! Rocks don't fight back – not like skakking trees!'

Alaster ignored their banter as he considered the terrain. He frowned. What could make sense, for an environment like this? 'Is it just me,' he said, 'or are there a lot of big gaps and cracks in the lower rockface over there?'

'There are, aren't there?' Patreus said. 'And some of them look like cave entrances.'

Alaster nodded slowly. 'I reckon that's exactly what they are,' he said. 'And some of them connect together behind the rock, I'm guessing.'

'So what is it all for?' Nasty asked. 'Is there a reason for all this skak?'

Alaster nodded slowly. 'I think I've got it,' he said. 'All of that stuff over there – it looks like a good defensive position, doesn't it? Lots of cover, clear lines of fire on the valley below. And maybe even some sneaky routes back and forth between firing positions, you know, in the caves. And high-ground advantage too.'

'What about all this?' Patreus asked, waving his arms around at the trees.

'This?' Alaster said. 'This I think looks like an approach – you know, skulking through the trees and all that.'

'What about the stream?' Nasty asked.

Alaster looked at it. 'I'm thinking double kill-zone,' he said.

'Double?' Patreus sounded surprised. 'You're sure? I mean, I can see it for the rocks over there. They can shoot straight down, after all. But how is it one for this side?'

'There's a cover-gap,' Alaster said. 'Look – the boulders stop short of the water.' They did, too. There was a wide gap of plain green grass between the water and the first of them. 'So if they try to counter-attack, across the stream…' He trailed off but he pointed downwards.

'Oh,' Patreus said. 'Then of course whoever's under the trees has high ground advantage and cover too.'

'What are we getting for weapons?' Nasty asked. 'You could take these trees down with some plasma!'

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' Patreus teased.

'Damn right! The arboreal skakkers need toasting!'

'Did Nasty just say "arboreal"?' Alaster said.

'He did, didn't he?' Patreus agreed. To Nasty, he said, 'You might want a quick sit-down, Brother. Have a breather with it. That was a lot of syllables for one go!'

Nasty glared. 'Hey, I can do long words too!'

'I think I may've overheard Kodos saying something about heavy bolters,' Alaster said. 'But I don't recall hearing anything about plasma.' He stared at the other side of the valley, trying to estimate the distance. 'Anyway, I've got a suspicion we're a bit far for that over here.'

'Do we know what side we'll be on?' Patreus asked.

Alaster shook his head. 'Not yet.' He stared back at the stream. 'But I'm going to see if I can figure out a strategy for both sides of the river – just to be sure!'

'Do we even know what the objective will be?' Patreus said.

'I'm guessing whoever's in the trees has to take the rockface,' Alaster said. 'And whoever's there has to stop them.'

Movement caught his eye on the far side of the valley. Tiny in the distance, he saw the unmistakeable shapes of three more Space Marines. They were carrying boulders.

'Oh,' Alaster said, 'there's Sandrer and co. We'd better get back – they must have another tree for us by now! And Kodos'll be annoyed if we're late.'

Kodos was somewhere else at that moment. His mind, in fact, was not on fake trees at all. He was now in the small admin office that overlooked the assembly room. With the door shut behind him, the din of the printers was somewhat muted. The office had a long window along one wall. Through it could be seen the machines as they churned out their designated objects. Tech-Priests moved amongst them, dispensing soothing chants to the laboured Machine Spirits and checking on the little votive candles. A couple of Enginseers were swinging incense balls, releasing scented, invocatory smoke into the chamber. Around them small groups of Storm Ravens moved, loaded down with trees and rocks and other freshly-printed objects.

Kodos ignored all of this. His attention was focused on Captain Lakon, who was also sharing the office.

'So we won't have any heavy weapons at all,' he said. 'And no jump packs.'

'No,' Lakon agreed. His eyes were on the activity down below.

'And if we take more then twenty-five percent casualties, we're considered to have conceded?' Kodos added.

Lakon nodded.

'And the people up in the rocks have heavy bolters?'

'Some heavy bolters,' Lakon corrected.

'And there's no cover in the valley,' Kodos added. 'So everything's going to have to be skakking hit-and-runs. Feints here and there. Whittle them down, one man at a time. That's going to take skakking ages!'

'Yes,' Lakon said. 'That's the plan.'

'But we could be in there for days!'

'Yes,' Lakon said. 'You could be.' The captain didn't seem to be wholly paying attention.

Kodos narrowed his eyes. 'All right,' he said. 'Spit it. What's bothering you? My Lord?'

Lakon was quiet for a moment, and then he spoke. 'All right, Sergeant. This isn't to go beyond this room, understand?'

Suspicious by instinct, Kodos looked around. They were alone in the office. Apart from a desk and a cogitator in the corner, it was largely empty. 'Okay,' he said. 'What's going on?'

'Bad news from home,' Lakon said.

'What sort of bad news?' Kodos asked.

'Now that we're away from Riothria,' Lakon said, 'and now that the Shadow's gone from the Warp, we've started getting news again. Turns out things have sort of fallen apart back on Delta.'

'Fallen apart?' Kodos asked. 'How come?'

'You remember the bust on Gamma?'

Kodos nodded. 'How could I forget, my Lord? We got caught up in its fall-out, remember? Those cultist idiots went after my lads, for the Throne's sake!'

'Yes, and that was a very stupid plan of theirs,' Lakon agreed. 'Anyway, it seems it didn't stop there. The shockwaves kept spreading from that. And they seem to have tripped off a system-wide economic crash.'

Kodos was silent for a minute. Then he said, 'Is this our problem?'

'The factoria,' Lakon said, 'are now six months behind on their shipments of ammunition. Or so we heard in the last dispatch from the Ravenholme. With all the deployments and training operations … supplies are depleted.'

Kodos frowned. 'That isn't good – but this is Delta. What's going to happen there?'

Lakon scowled. 'I detest these politics!' he growled. 'All this plotting and scheming. But I'm getting a strange feeling about all this. And apparently not only has the economy cratered back home, but so has the government.'

Kodos frowned. 'Really?'

Lakon nodded. 'Really. There's been a breakaway from one of the parties. They're stopping anyone from doing anything. Apparently they haven't even managed to get it together enough to call a new election.'

'Call a new – so what's happened to Yelessa, then?'

Lakon shrugged. 'She's toast, apparently. Career over. Called a confidence vote and lost it. Yesterday's woman.'

Kodos blinked. 'Life without Yelessa … good grief! She's been First Minister, what, twenty years?'

'Twenty-three,' Lakon corrected. 'But there's more. There's a little rumour, going around on the grapevine. The breakaway – apparently they might be pro-Originist.'

Kodos let rip a string of expletives. 'Those skakkers?' He spat. 'Are they still out there?'

Lakon nodded, looking grim. 'And worse yet. Apparently some fool unbanned them.'

'What?' Kodos gawped.

Lakon nodded. 'I say "some" fool. Actually we know exactly which fool. One of the late and unlamented Yelessa's last acts.'

'Oh for the Throne's sake - good skakking riddance to her, then!'

'Quite.' Lakon paused, then he said, 'But the crisis is really bad. Last we heard, the exchequer was about to run out of money.'

Kodos looked baffled. 'Is that even possible?'

'It shouldn't be,' Lakon said. 'But apparently, where there's a will, there's a way. I have a feeling we're going to have to break with habit and knock a few heads together when we get home.'

'Sounds like it might be about skakking time,' Kodos said.

'Non-interference,' Lakon said, 'is the price we pay for taking our duty to the Compact seriously. But I don't think non-interference extends to standing by while the Fiefdom goes into meltdown.'

'Meltdown?' Kodos said. 'There's more, isn't there?'

'Salaries are going unpaid,' Lakon said. 'Loans are being called in. Businesses are collapsing. People are losing their homes and their jobs. And they're Octalians – we're not passive! Octalians don't just sit there and quietly starve.'

'Oh skak,' Kodos said. 'They're rioting, aren't they?'

Lakon sighed. 'Yes. While the Assembly dithers, the planet is burning. All the reports we're getting from the Ravenholme are about the collapsing security situation. Apparently half the cities on the East Coast of Primaris have "major" disorder. We're getting some very confused reports out of Creekside, for instance - apparently the local rioters have blocked the main arteries in.'

Kodos frowned. 'But I know that town. Those are all the poor districts, underneath the flyovers. They're too busy trying not to starve to care about politics.'

'That's partly the problem,' Lakon said. 'It seems economic chaos has shaken a few awkward truths out. Apparently the potassium thing's gone public.'

Kodos boggled. 'Skak,' he breathed.

Lakon grimaced. 'Yes. Of course we've known about it for decades – not officially, mind you, but anyone with a brain could see misallocation going on. And that strange way everyone on the Supplements Board seemed to be able to afford luxury mansions.'

'We should have done something,' Kodos said.

'No,' Lakon said. 'It's not our place under the Compact. And anyway, if we went in there, we might just have made the problems worse. The sort of problems we're trained to solve are the sort that shoot back. And anyway, we can't get into the habit of having everyone on Delta come to us to solve all their problems. Soon we'll be so busy handling them that we won't have time to fight! And that's what we're for.'

Kodos was quiet for a moment. Then he said, 'So the planet needs putting back on its feet.'

Lakon said, 'On this occasion, yes. It's got too far out of hand.'

'So … we might be looking at a ground action, on our home world?'

'The current theory,' Lakon said, 'is that the breakways are trying to get the Assembly to give them the Ministry.'

'Oh skak,' Lakon groaned. 'An Originist First Minister!'

'So weirdly enough, by dithering and doing nothing, the Assembly might actually be doing us a small favour,' Lakon said. 'But if no-one else can get a majority, and an election can't be called, and the money's running out, and the coastal cities are on fire, and food's running low in the Capital … you can imagine them getting a bit desperate. And panicking people sometimes do deeply stupid things.'

'The Clesthens,' Kodos said abruptly. A look of grim realisation had entered his eyes.

'Yes,' Lakon said, 'the Clesthens. The range of mountains that border the Capital to the north. Yes, the Clesthens. And as it happens, Training Hall Number Five currently looks very similar to part of one of the passes.'

'Oh skak,' Kodos said. 'You think we might have to fight our way in!'

'I think nothing,' Lakon said. 'But the Raven Lord wants us to plan for worst-case scenarios. If they give it to an Originist, and if he has a fit of proper crazy and decides to seek martyrdom at the hands of the unholy mutants … well, I'm sure we can oblige.'

'And you want this kept quiet,' Kodos said, 'for morale?'

Lakon nodded. 'Yes. Our Brothers have been through the ringer on Riothria. Suspecting that we could be coming home to a firefight on our homeworld … that could be poisonous.'

'Yes,' Kodos said, soberly.

'And we can't afford that. So we'll do some training on taking the passes, with limited ammunition and limited re-supply. In the meantime it'll keep our marines busy. And if they're in the Training Halls, training, then they're not outside and possibly hearing rumours. In the worst case, at least we're prepared. And if things turn out not to be so bad? Then we arrive with morale reasonably intact.'

' "If things turn out not to be so bad",' Kodos quoted, sounding cynical. 'With respect, my Lord, when have things ever not been so bad?'

'We'll just have to have faith,' Lakon said, 'that this will be the exception that proves the rule.'

At that point, neither of them had any idea just how wrong Lakon was.


	63. Chapter 63 A Disrupted Welcome

'GET DOWN GET DOWN GET DOWN!'

As they hit the dirt, Nasty muttered, 'Someone's too excited.'

Alaster had to agree. It was the third day of the exercise and to be completely frank, Alaster was fed up with it. Normally running around with guns blazing and watching things explode was fun, but for some reason this time it wasn't. Partly it was frustration – looking up, he could actually see some of the other side's positions, in amongst the rocks on the opposite side of the valley. Despite being within sight of them, he and the other marines were still stuck over here, in the trees. The stringent terms and limited equipment available to them had made forward movement rather difficult. An assault on the first day had taken them halfway to their allowed casualty limit.

A spray of soil fragments erupted a few feet in front of Alaster. A line of little dirt geysers traced itself out across the ground. Dummy bolts, from one of the other side's heavy bolters.

'Oh get up,' he heard Sandrer say, 'that was tiny.'

'Shut up, Sandrer,' Nasty said. 'Remember you're dead!'

Sandrer and Fegust had got hit during that assault. Obviously they weren't actually dead, or even slightly injured, as the dummy bolts just bounced harmlessly off their armour. The dummies were good for making holes in the scenery but not much else. Alaster looked at the line of holes in the sod – even those were fairly small. However, the cogitators that monitored the exercise chamber were rigorous about flagging up 'casualties' and 'kills'. Sandrer and Fegust had both been listed as shot dead within the first hour. However, no-one was allowed out until the exercise was done.

They'd been given red armbands to mark them as casualties, and then had been left to their own devices. They'd taken to following the squad around and critiquing their technique. The other side weren't supposed to use casualties as target-markers, of course, but Alaster suspected that being stood over by the other two wasn't helping the squad's concealment much.

This, Alaster had to acknowledge, was another reason why he wasn't much enjoying the exercise. Sandrer and Fegust's carping was getting on his nerves. Alaster understood that his brothers were bored, but he just wished they could be bored somewhere else. And there was something fundamentally irritating about getting tellings-off from the dead, particularly when the dead kept giving away your position.

'Can't you two just sit down or something?' he asked. 'They can see you, you know!' He waved a hand toward the other side of the valley.

'Oh, it's okay,' Sandrer said breezily. 'We're dead, you know.'

He was stood up next to Alaster's prone form. The other side couldn't possibly miss that, could they? 'I don't think,' Alaster said, 'that they care – hang, on what's this?'

He stared down into the valley.

'Who are – oh, skak,' Nasty said.

It was the Inquisitor.

'What is she doing here?' Patreus asked, sounding puzzled. 'I thought she was on Majoris.'

Alaster and Nasty looked at each other. 'I thought you told him,' Nasty's helmet said.

Alaster shook his head. 'Uh, no. I thought Kodos did.'

'Who didn't tell me what?' Patreus asked.

'Apparently, all of us,' Alaster sighed.

'Apparently we sort of took the Inquisitor with us,' Nasty said. 'Rumour is, no-one asked her first.'

'Oh,' Patreus said. He paused for a moment. Then he said, 'That might not have been too clever.'

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Alaster suspected that Patreus was right.

Walking out into the valley was the slim but unmistakeable form of Lady Sharrow. How she'd gotten in here, Alaster had no idea. He noted that the other side had stopped firing – clearly this was a surprise to them as well. They didn't know if this was part of the show or not.

She stopped in the middle of the valley, right next to the river. Her face was tiny in the distance but the belligerent scowl was unmistakeable. Her posture suggested fury. Zooming his eyelenses, Alaster saw balled hands on hips and tensed muscles.

Her voice was faint, but it carried. 'LAKON! WHERE THE SKAK ARE YOU? GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!'

'Oh dear,' Nasty said. 'I think someone's a bit upset.'

'Wow,' Patreus said approvingly, 'she actually sounded like Kodos there, didn't she?'

'LAKON – I KNOW YOU'RE LURKING IN THOSE SKAKKING BUSHES! GET DOWN HERE AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!'

'I thought she was still in a sick bed,' Alaster said, 'sedated.'

'Evidently not,' Sandrer said.

'Shut up, Sandrer,' Alaster said, only half-listening. 'You're supposed to be dead. The dead don't usually comment on current affairs.' The bulk of his attention was focused on the scene developing below.

Moments later, Lakon appeared from amongst the trees. Apparently unconcerned, the captain walked down to the waterside. Alaster had to strain his ears as Lady Sharrow had stopped shouting, but with a bit of effort he could just about make out what they were saying.

'Wow,' Nasty said, watching intently. 'He really doesn't know fear, does he?'

'Possibly only socially,' Sandrer quipped.

'Would you lot shut up?' Alaster said. 'I'm trying to listen.' He focused his attention on the irate tableaux that was developing below.

'What is the meaning of this?' he heard the Inquisitor say. She didn't quite shout.

'My lady,' Lakon remarked, 'it's good to see you looking better.'

She glared. 'Better? How the skak is this better? I'm supposed to be at skakking Majoris – there's so much work that needs doing! And yet I find myself here. Wasting time on this skakking ship!'

'You needed some recovery time,' Lakon said. 'We thought-'

'You _think_, do you?' She scowled. 'Oh well that's news to me. And there was me thinking those skulls were just for ballast!'

'My Lady Inquisitor-'

'_Don't_ waste my time, Brother-Captain.' She jabbed an angry finger at him. Alaster blinked. He was impressed in spite of himself. Lady Sharrow gave no hint at all of being in any way intimidated by the massive Space Marine towering over her. Cowardice clearly wasn't one of her flaws. 'You skakking well abducted me, for reasons of your own. And I intend to get to the bottom of those. Lest you've forgotten, Brother-Captain, I'm an Imperial agent. And you've interrupted me in the conduct of my job. That could be a serious problem for you, you know.'

Lakon sighed. 'My lady, if you mean to threaten me I can save you some time. Don't bother. The display does nothing.'

'Threaten?' She lifted an eyebrow. 'I don't threaten – I merely promise. I wasn't "threatening" anyone on Minoris with the Exterminatus. I was merely promising – and if I can't keep a promise, I don't make it.'

'How did you even get in here?' Lakon asked. 'This room's supposed to be on lock-down.'

She glared again. 'Nowhere is locked down from the Inqusition, Brother-Captain.'

Lakon hesitated for an instant. Then he said, 'Perhaps we should discuss this. But perhaps we should discuss this somewhere else – after the exercise is completed, I mean.'

'No, I'm not having this delay-'

Lady Sharrow was about to speak further when she was abruptly interrupted.

The dirt under Alaster's feet convulsed. He was actually thrown a couple of inches into the air before landing again with a thud. All around them the synthetic trees groaned and rattled. Several of them fell over, displaced by the tremor. Down in the valley the water in the stream splashed from its bed. Up on the far side, some rocks were knocked loose and a rattle of pebbles made their way down the rocky slope. A cloud of dust surged into the air.

For a moment, the chamber fell silent.

Then Lady Sharrow said in an acid tone, 'Was that part of your exercise, Brother-Captain?'

Lakon sounded puzzled. 'No, actually, it wasn't, my lady. That…' He hesitated. 'That felt like the ship being fired on.'

Nasty murmured, 'Fired on? But shouldn't we still be in the Warp?'

Patreus sounded uneasy but he spoke. 'I don't think we are. In the Warp, I mean. There was that bump this morning, you know, the one when you exit it?'

Alaster and Nasty looked at each other. They both knew that there had been no such bump. But Patreus sounded convinced of his own evidence.

Down in the valley, Lady Sharrow said, 'Well then, that would be rather odd. You see, I understand this ship is returning to Delta Octalis?'

Lakon's helmet nodded. 'Yes, my lady. We would have exited the Warp this morning. We should now be approaching synchronous orbit.'

'Then why?' Lady Sharrow asked, 'are we supposedly taking evasive manoeuvres? Or is there something else you're not telling me?'

'I'll just talk to the bridge,' Lakon said. There was a moment of silence, then he started swearing.

'What?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'Skak,' Lakon said. He turned his head to look at the hills. 'OKAY, EVERYONE, LISTEN UP!' he shouted. 'THE EXERCISE IS CANCELLED - I REPEAT, THE EXERCISE IS CANCELLED!' Lowering his voice slightly he said, 'All Ravens are to proceed to the drop bays immediately. You'll be given your drop pod assignments when you get there.

'One exception – Third Squad, come with us. We're going to the bridge.'

'What the skak?' Nasty asked. 'Hey, Third Squad – that's us!'

Alaster had a sinking feeling in his stomach. A combat drop – on Delta? What in the name of the Emperor did that mean? He had a feeling that something was very badly wrong.

It seemed the Inquisitor shared the sensation. 'Okay Lakon,' she said icily, 'Just what the skak is this about?'

'Bad news, my lady,' Lakon said. 'Apparently there's been an uprising on Delta. Our little Originist tumour just went metastasis, or something. And they've seized some of the heavy space-defence guns. That jolt we all just felt? That was the ship, taking evasive action.'

Lady Sharrow frowned. 'Aren't those guns guarded?'

'Yes, they are.'

'Then how …?'

'The Originists,' Lakon growled, grating every word as if they were coated with poison, 'are doing something. Skak only knows what, but it sounds bad. We're looking at a hot landing here.' He looked up at the part of the valley where Alaster and the squad were. 'Right, you lot, let's move – now!' He glanced at the Inquisitor. 'Oh, and you might want to join us, my Lady.'

An eyebrow lifted. 'Oh might I now? I get to do that, do I?'

Lakon was already moving. 'Sorry,' he said, trying to look back over his shoulder. 'Much as I like sparring with you, there just isn't time. For a proper sarcastic reply, I mean.'

For just a moment then, the Inquisitor actually looked worried. She started moving too.

The next couple of minutes passed in a blur of activity. Alaster found himself pounding along a corridor with the rest of the squad, decking vibrating under foot with each heavy thump from their boots and regularly-spaced lights passing overhead. They found themselves with Lakon and the Inquisitor, in an elevator-carriage bound for the bridge. He was gripping his blade and his gun as the elevator rumbled into life, ascending up the tube with a rush of acceleration.

Moments later they were on the bridge.

Lakon and the Inquisitor strode toward the centre of the large space.

Alaster looked up. The big screen – he remembered that from his last trip up here. The scene hadn't changed much. Crewmembers were sat at consoles and stations, talking quietly into headsets and doing technical-looking things with cogitator interfaces. Red-robed Tech-Priests strode back and forth through the space, swinging chain-mounted censers to dispense holy incense. The place was filled with a low buzz of activity.

'Status,' Lakon barked at the duty officer. 'Report!'

The man snapped to attention. 'Yes my Lord! We're being painted with multiple targeting-locks. From the planet, and orbital defences. And we have multiple STS launches detected.'

The squad was lined up near the doors. Speaking in a low voice, Nasty asked, 'What's STS?'

'Did you pay attention at any point during your training?' Alaster could hear the scowl in Kodos's voice. 'STS – Surface To Spacecraft.'

'It's what people do when you want to shoot stuff down,' Sandrer helpfully added.

'Like us,' Patreus said.

'Yeah, I'd worked that much out,' Nasty growled.

'I just wanted you to be clear,' Patreus said. 'I mean, with all that bone inside your head, we have to make sure…'

'For skak's sake,' Kodos growled. 'You two – just skakking shut up, for five minutes! This is important!'

The conference in front of them was continuing.

'Hails aren't being answered,' the duty officer said. He pointed at the big screen at the chamber's front. 'We've got a schematic up of the launches.'

Alaster looked up. There was a big image of Delta up there. The planet was in half-phase. He could see the familiar pattern of continents, emerging from behind the patchy shroud of cloud. Glowing labels pointed to various sites on the surface. Alaster noted in passing that the capital city was marked, as was Colvin and several other places he'd heard of. He briefly wondered why his hometown was on the screen.

'Do we have any idea,' Lakon was saying, 'what the skak is going on down there?'

'Looks like a planetary meltdown, my lord,' the duty officer said. 'We're getting some scattered reports – news broadcasts, radio, the net, that sort of thing. Not as many as we should – seems a lot of stations are off-air for some reason. Apparently the money crisis has hit critical mass and gone all toadstool-cloud. Turned into a sort of general revolt. We can't raise anyone in the government – just their answerphones!'

'Not good,' Lakon said. 'But what about the space defence platforms? Those are run from the Ravenholme. Why are they lighting up?'

'Sir,' a new voice said. It was one of the sensor techs. 'We're getting a signal from the surface – from the Ravenholme.'

'Put it on screen,' Lakon said.

An image popped up on the screen. Alaster was startled by how bad the quality was – a wave of static washed across the image and it flickered before steadying.

It showed a Storm Raven in full battle-harness, in some anonymous comms room somewhere in the building. He was wearing a Mark VI helmet, with a prominent skull above his eye-lenses. Behind him Alaster noted the room had a heavy blast-door. There was what looked life a defensive firepoint set up in front of it, a ring of sandbags with a couple of Space Marines squatting behind a tripod-mounted heavy bolter.

There was a thump and the door shook. A line of dust drifted down from the ceiling.

The brother in front of the camera spoke. 'Sergeant Inixos, Fifth Company,' the marine reported.

'Sergeant, what's your status? What the skak is going on down there? Where's your captain?'

'He's dead,' Sergeant Inixos said, quite bluntly. 'I'm in acting command. We're at Station A-Four-Two-Zero.'

'The Ravenholme perimeter,' Lakon said. 'Just under the shield.'

There was another bang, accompanied by a wave of static over the screen. For a moment a line of white light blazed around the edges of the door.

'What was that?' Lakon demanded.

'Plasma discharge,' Inixos said. 'One of their Predators. They're trying to shoot the door down. You're probably getting some interference from it on the transmission. The antenna isn't in a good state.'

'_Their_ Predators -?' Lakon stared. 'I thought there was an Originist problem?'

'There is,' Inixos said. 'But it turns out they've brought friends. Apparently their new mates get a pass on the genetic engineering thing. Skakking hypocrite heretics!'

Lakon was still staring. 'I think you'd better explain.'

'I'll do better then that, my lord,' the sergeant said. He reached out toward something off-screen. Alaster heard keys being hit. 'Here's a feed into our cameras.'

There was another thud at the door. This time it shook more.

Another image-box popped up. It showed an outside scene. Sunlight played over shredded foliage and muddy craters. Amongst them were a mass of tangled human bodies – Originist cultists, Alaster supposed. But then something moved toward the back of the image. He boggled at what he saw.

The shape was undeniable. There was a red-painted Predator tank. Except it didn't belong to any Loyalist force. It was bedecked with spikes and impaled skulls and grizzly trophies.

'Chaos,' the Inquisitor said. Her voice was cold and flat. 'Well, I think the Originist Church has finally gone too far.'

There were shapes flanking the tank. 'Chaos Marines,' Inixos said. They were, Alaster realised. 'Berzerkers. They're waiting for that thing to blast it's way in here.'

'You're going to try cutting them down from the door,' Lakon said.

The helmet nodded. 'If we can. I'm betting the tank will stop shooting, so they can close for hand-to-hand.'

'Are they the only traitor war-band?' Lakon asked.

'No, my lord,' Inixos said. 'There are lots of them. Some Khornate, some appear to be Alpha Legion. Mostly Khornates. Also some daemons, too.'

Lakon looked appalled. 'This is an outrage! When did this attack start?'

'Just over two hours ago, my lord. There was no warning. They came pouring out onto the plains around the Ravenholme.'

'What about the shields?'

'They brought part of it down, my lord. Came in under the tower guns. That's why we're here. We're trying to set up a perimeter.'

'How many men do you have down there?' Lakon asked.

Alaster felt a sense of concern. Inside his helmet, he frowned. He knew that most of the Chapter's forces were out on deployment. Normally an Astartes fortress-monastery should be quite impregnable, but with most of its warriors elsewhere and only a small local detachment, and apparently no chance of help from the civil authorities … this could be bad. This could be bad indeed.

'We've still got sixty,' Inixos said. 'We're taken a few casualties.'

'How many are you up against?' Lakon asked.

'We reckon about thirty-nine thousand Cultists,' Inixos said. 'That's down from seventy thousand when they started pouring in.'

Alaster frowned. Thirty-nine thousand versus sixty marines didn't sound too bad a set of odds. But…

'And we reckon maybe four hundred Traitor Marines,' Inixos added. 'They've got enough Rhinos for all of them – or had. We've popped a few. They've still got two Land Raiders out there. And five Predators – we're keeping one of them busy!'

The door shuddered again. Was it just Alaster's imagination, or had the line of white light looked brighter this time? Uneasily, he wondered how many more of these shots that door could stand.

'And the daemons?' Lakon asked intently.

'Hard to be precise, my lord,' Inixos admitted. 'They don't seem to like it down here. Keep going pop every now and then. The Traitors immediately slaughter a load of cultists whenever that happens. Trying to bring the daemons back, I guess. Last count we had was about two dozen.'

Thousands of Originist fanatics. Several hundred Traitor-Marines, with vehicle backup. Dozens of daemons. This situation wasn't looking so good.

The Inquisitor was frowning, deep in thought. 'A small bit of good news in there,' she mused. 'If the daemons aren't stable then that suggests this isn't a systematic infestation.'

'That's the good news?' Lakon asked. 'We've got a daemonic infection, but it's curable?'

'Yes,' she said in a cold voice. 'It means we probably don't have to do with Delta what we were going to do with Minoris. Probably.'

Alaster abruptly remembered his dream, with the ruined city and the church full of skulls. Inside his suit, he shivered.

'My lord, we need reinforcing,' Inixos was saying. 'We're doing what we can here but-'

He was cut off. This time there were two thumps, in short succession. And they sounded like they were in different places. Alaster frowned. He only saw the door shake once – but this time, it buckled in a little. Daylight streamed through a gap in the plates.

But Inixos wasn't looking at it. His helmet was pointed at somewhere behind the monitor. He brought up his bolter – and Alaster realised he could see sunlight reflecting in Inixos's eyelenses. Alaster frowned. They were in doors – that didn't make sense!

'You men!' the sergeant barked to someone offscreen, 'get over there! Seal that hole!'

'Sergeant,' Lakon said, 'what's going on? Report!'

'Sir, they must've had another tank! They've blown a hole through the other wall! And – skak, here they come! Get firing! Get them suppressed!'

Inixos's bolter came up and jerked in his hands. Muzzle flashes blinked and roared in staccato sequence.

Alaster caught a glimpse of movement reflected in the other marine's eyelenses. Then everything happened at once. He heard the howl of chainblades. He heard a scream and the bark of bolters. He saw the weakened doors finally blow in. The force of the blast hurled the marines behind the sandbags away, like they were ragdolls.

'Take that, you skakking heretic!' Inixos shouted, shooting at something just off screen. Then, just for a moment, Alaster caught the reflection of a descending chain-axe.

The speakers howled and the screen dissolved in a wave of static.

'We've lost them, my lords,' the comms tech reported. 'Signal's gone off-line.'

Lakon had a face like a thundercloud. 'Well,' he said, 'this isn't the homecoming any of us wanted. But it's the one we've got. Clearly they've broken into the Ravenholme. And they've got some of our guns under their control. But I'll be skakked in a basket if I'm letting heretics take this planet!' He looked at the duty officer. 'Are we in range for teleportation?'

The officer shook his head. 'No, my lord. We're at the edge of the gunnery range here. We get enough warning to dodge their shots. But if we come in much closer, they'll start landing hits on us.'

Lakon nodded. 'And of course it's a fortress monastery's guns, so they can do us some real damage. Okay. Hold orbit here, then. We're going to have to go in the hard way.' He raised his voice. 'Lakon to all drop stations. Prepare for imminent deployment. Expect heavy resistance from the moment of landing. I'll send a full briefing once pods are deployed.' He looked back at the duty officer. 'I'll be dropping with them, but I want you to get one of the Thunderhawks prepped, ASAP.' He looked at the Inquisitor. 'Your ladyship, you've not got much reason to be kindly disposed to us at the moment. But dealing with heretics and traitors is the kind of thing the Inquisition does well. We could use your expertise.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Yes, I don't have much reason to be kindly disposed, as you put it.' She sighed. 'But I'm not enthused by rampant heresy, either.' She stuck a finger out at Lakon. 'Okay. You and I, Brother-Captain, are a long way from finished on this. But let's call a strategic truce, until this crisis is dealt with.' She glanced at the planet on the screen. 'What do you want me to do?'

'I want you to find the source of this mess,' he said, 'and make it quite dead.'

She nodded. 'Okay. That should be do-able. If I have suitable aid.'

Lakon said, 'I don't know what you'd consider suitable, but I'm giving you Third Squad. Sergeant Kodos – see to it that the Inquisitor has whatever aid you can give her! You'll be taking the Thunderhawk down with her.'

Kodos nodded. 'Yes my Lord.'

'Okay,' the Inquisitor said. 'If that's resolved then, I guess there's no point us hanging around. Let's move!'

They moved. But as he sprinted toward the Thunderhawk bay along with the others, one thing was on Alaster's mind.

Just how exactly had all of this started?


	64. Chapter 64 Reason's Painful Light

Seventy-two hours before the Wrath was unexpectedly fired upon, Father Inyre was recovering from the night before the day after.

Weak sunlight filtered through the shabby curtains of the room. From elsewhere in the guesthouse, he could hear the sounds of the other patrons. Floorboards creaked, pipes rumbled and muffled voices jabbered garbled conversation at each other. Outside, trucks and cars rumbled past on the road below. Inyre lay on his bed, groaning. All of the noise was just adding to his headache.

Finally the feeling of nausea forced him from the bed. He shambled awkwardly to the sink in the corner. His bowels heaved. It was a purely mechanical effort. Anything vomitable had long since already been vomited. Once the gut's paroxysm subsided, Inyre looked at himself in the mirror. The glass was dirty and cracked. Three sets of eyes stared back at him. He noted that he looked dirty and unkempt. That was no great surprise, Inyre supposed.

'By the Emperor,' he croaked, 'I need a drink!'

Then he winced in memory. It was drinking that had gotten him into this state.

With fumbling hands, he reached out. There was a glass sat upside down on the sink. One side of it was chipped, but it was clean. It would do. He picked it up. With his other hand, he turned the cold tap. Cool, clear water tinkled down into the porcelain basin. He let it run for a minute, just to be on the safe side – the pipes in this building probably weren't in any better condition than the rest of it – and then he filled the glass up.

He glugged the water down.

This time, surprisingly, his stomach appeared to accept the offering. Hardly daring to believe his luck, Inyre followed the glass with two more. He then stumbled back to the bed, sitting himself down on the edge of the mattress, to await the inevitable convulsion.

The minutes passed, and nothing happened.

Inyre felt an unexpected blossom of hope unfolding inside him. More minutes ticked by, and there was nothing except silence from his belly. Inyre also noted that some of his vigour appeared to be returning. With a surge of delight, he realised that the hangover was passing.

He celebrated with two more glasses of water.

As headache, nausea and dehydration faded away, Inyre began to feel much more like a functioning human being again. This, he reflected, was the sole good thing about having an epic hangover – once it finally faded, it reminded you just how fundamentally good it was to be alive.

He looked at the clock on the wall and groaned.

'Fifteen hundred,' he said. 'Three hours after lunch!'

He reviewed what remained of the night's memories. He was still in Sothis. Following that devastating discovery at the Collegium, he had been left staggered and rudderless, a human boat adrift on a sea of confusion. The full emotional impact hadn't arrived until a few hours after his session on Shevins' cogitator. He supposed that he'd been in shock at first, or possibly still in denial.

Once the shock had set in, he had lurched through several ludicrous schemes to deal with his emotional overload. The researches at Mundale had confirmed to him that he still had an income, unlike almost everyone else on Delta – in fact, he had effectively unlimited access to the Church's funds. Shevins wasn't going to investigate any transactions - that would require motivation, a thing of which she had none – and there was no-one left in authority to order the payments cut off. But even the wildest spending-binge imaginable would have little visible effect on the fraudulent fortune sitting in the Church coffers. Inyre was in a somewhat-unique position – he could afford to fully-indulge any fantasy, no matter how extreme or garish.

Faced with the loss of the entire purpose of his life, and reeling from the shock, he'd sought to do exactly that.

He recalled starting with a casino. It had still been open – in fact, it was doing a roaring trade. It seemed a lot of people were bringing their last paycheque there, in the thin hope of winning enough money to escape the crisis engulfing Delta. Recalling his revelation earlier in the day, Inyre had cynically supposed that their strategy was probably no worse than resorting to prayer.

He'd gambled at the casino until the small hours, betting and losing an appalling sum of money. Then, before he left, he'd settled up every last penny on the Church accounts. He recalled the look of utter disbelief on the bouncer's face when the mercantile cogitator had pinged its acceptance of the transaction.

But the gambling had left him unsatisfied. The stakes just weren't high enough, he supposed. He personally was at no financial risk and back on Jenneko all those years ago, he'd taken gambles far riskier than this. The tinkle of slot machine was nothing on the rattle of the autogun, he supposed.

He had stumbled off into the night, in search of more earthy entertainments.

By this point, the omnipresent riots had reached Sothis. Parts of the city were on fire. It had been a cloudy night, scudding cumulous stained red and sooty orange by the fires ripping through the city below it. Occasionally the small and sallow face of the Moon had found its way through the clouds, only to be lost again beneath another plume of carmine-stained vapour. A faint smell of smoke was everywhere in the city that night.

Inyre had paid it no mind. Instead, he'd been on his way to a red-lit area of a rather different kind, in search of another kind of fire entirely. Although a priest was far too proper to frequent such a place, of course Inyre was no fool. He knew of the existence of houses that provided certain services, for the right price. And his credit was good. He'd found no release in gambling, but perhaps he might find some solace in the arms of a woman.

This idea had run onto the rocks of Inyre's basic personality.

He'd found himself stood in the atrium of a certain rather-bawdy house. Then, just as the madame handed him back his card after checking his credentials, he had taken a deep breath. He'd smelt the cheap perfume on the air, and the undertones of human sweat. And he'd heard the sounds of creaking springs upstairs.

And he'd been hit by a huge wave of embarrassment.

He'd realised his face was flushing as red as the shagpile carpet under his feet. He felt utterly out of place, as inherently-wrong as a square egg. Shame had overtaken him. He'd fled the building there and then, face burning. Even the baffled cries of the madame hadn't been enough to slow his humiliated flight.

He'd tried gambling. He'd tried the pleasures of the flesh. Neither of them had helped. Inyre knew he had two more options left, but one of them frightened him to his core. He'd chosen the less scary one. If gambling and prostitution held no solace for him, perhaps he could find some inner peace through the bottle.

Thus Father Inyre had found himself at a bar.

It was still open – a slim trickle of patrons came and went throughout the evening. Feeling extravagantly-generous, Inyre bought everyone there a drink. To the bafflement of the proprietor, the expenses cogitator pinged the transaction through without demurral.

Still, his gesture had one advantage. It conferred a certain license on Inyre. Requests that would normally result in an angry stare, or even a hasty expulsion from the premises, instead drew merely polite service.

Inyre read through the cocktail list. He had been amused to discover that there was one called 'Rock Bottom'. Well, that adequately described how he felt. Certain that he'd now finally picked a winner, Inyre sought out Rock Bottom. In fact, he sought out three of them. Together. In a pint glass.

He muzzily recalled that Rock Bottom had turned out to be a vivid pink.

After that, his memory became vague. From the general feel of his body, though, it was clear that a binge of epic proportions had occurred. At some point in the night - or the morning – Inyre had clearly somehow found his way back to the guesthouse, although he remembered none of this.

It seemed that in the intervening time, no-one had set fire to this part of Sothis. Or at least, if they had, they'd done it rather politely. Inyre lifted up the tatty curtain and peered out. The street scene outside looked refreshingly normal. The houses over there had no more broken windows than you would expect in this part of town, and none of the cars were on bricks or burnt out. By the current standards of the situation on Delta, this was the most you could hope for.

Inyre dropped the curtain down. He trudged over to the small public terminal in the corner. Time to find out how much more bad news was there. He poked the on button.

Nothing happened.

He frowned and poked it again. Still nothing happened. Then he noticed the small votive candle sat next to it, with the red and silver cog tied to it by a little bit of coppery thread.

'By the Throne,' he muttered, 'that was stupid!'

No wonder the cogitator wasn't responding. The candle had gone out! Feeling irritated at himself for this silly error, he hunted around for the pack of matches. Finally he found it. With a sharp crackle, a match flared into life. Inyre re-lit the votive candle. He muttered a quick benediction to the Omnissiah. Hoping that the Machine Spirit was now suitably mollified, he pushed the button again.

Still nothing happened.

'Oh come on,' Inyre groaned. 'Look, I forgot the candle. I know that's rubbish. I'm sorry! But please stop tormenting me!'

Another push of the button revealed that the cogitator was not in a forgiving mood. Inyre groaned once more. He realised he would have to leave the room to get his news fix.

With a painful mechanical whinge from the unoiled hinges, he hauled the door open. He stepped out into the shabby corridor outside. A few feet took him to the stairwell, where he creaked and groaned his way down to the ground floor.

He noticed it was rather dark. The only light came through the front door, which was propped open. He could just see a young man sat behind the desk near the door. Wondering what this was about, he walked over. As he got closer he finally recognised the man – he was the proprietor's son, Inyre recalled.

'Hello,' Inyre said. 'What's up with the lights?'

The proprietor's son glared at him. 'What do you think?' His tone was grumpy and his face was bellicose.

'Well I don't know, do I? I've been sleeping last night off, you know.'

The visible hostility faded a little. 'Oh, that makes sense. I guess. Well, the power went off. At ten this morning.'

'Oh,' Inyre said. The power had gone off? Well, that explained the dead cogitator, then. He felt a momentary surge of relief. So it wasn't down to his little booboo with the candle. Thank goodness for that! Presumably he hadn't made an enemy of the Omnissiah, then. 'Well I might just pop out, then.' No point sitting around in a lightless building!

Not waiting for an answer, he strode out to the street.

As he walked onto the pavement, sunlight and sound enveloped him. He blinked in the sharp light as his pupils contracted. Cars rumbled back and forth in front of him. He breathed in. He could smell the usual salty coastal air of Sothis, with only the smallest hint of burning.

And in came rolling yesterday's dilemma, back in full force.

As he stood there on the pavement, he felt like he was spinning, as if the world had stopped its turning and dumped all of that force into him. It was as if everything he'd ever known was fragmenting and flying away from him. He stood, shaking, inside a silent tornado of emotion.

His church was false.

His ministry was false.

His faith was empty.

His beliefs were lies.

His career was nothing.

All he'd worked for, all he'd ever done – none of it had meaning. There was no value, no inerrant truth, no pure light of divine hope amidst the murk of fear and confusion that was his life. Everything he'd trusted in and supported for years, it was all a hollow façade, erected simply as an elaborate shield for the overreaching greed of some unknown individual. How far did the lies reach? To what distance did the trail of deceit stretch? Was it just here, or did they extend all the way to Terra herself? Was human life anything except a mischance of meat and matter? Did consciousness and compassion have any meaning, any truth, or were they no different from anger and aggression? Was his perception of an emotional soul, an immortal body of love and faith, just a miasma of chemicals fogging the dumb neurons of his brain?

He stretched his hand out in front of him, staring at the blood vessels, visible faintly through the skin. He opened and closed the hand, watching the play of the tendons and the muscles. Was this all there was to life? Just a meaty machine, existing simply to eat, excrete and reproduce?

The Throne, on Holy Terra herself. Was that the physical repository of an all-mighty god – or was it, as that blasphemous Chaos Marine had said, just a big, gilded refrigerator, containing a ten-thousand-year-old carcass?

In the shattering light of day, Inyre's attempts to hide from this revelation finally crumbled. He realised he was stood there in the street, arms at his side, sobbing. He could feel the tears running down his face.

It was a mark of how bad the situation on Delta was that no-one looked twice at a crying old man, stood on his own on a street corner in the mid-afternoon. Wrapped up in their own troubles, they just glided by, as if they were the human equivalents of neutrinos, neither seeing nor interacting with any other matter.

Finally the immediate emotional convulsion subsided somewhat. There was only so long that any endocrinal system could sustain this sort of over-stimulation. As the wave of grief ebbed, dullness stole in behind it. It was as if the world receded away from Inyre. He felt as if he were stood all on his own, in some other place, watching the scurrying people and cars on some sort of telescreen. He wasn't really there. None of this was happening to him. It was all somewhere else.

He didn't know it, of course, but his enormous emotional distress had triggered one of the brain's protective measures. Denial – a deep-seated countermeasure, lurking deep in the human unconscious. A limited way of coping with shocks that would otherwise send the entire edifice of the human mind tumbling down. For the moment, Inyre was dissociated from his own troubles. He too was another human neutrino, gliding effortlessly and without resistance through a ghostly world.

From his detached perspective, Inyre watched as his feet decided to start walking. It interested him, in a vague and mild way. From many miles away from reality, he felt the wind on that other person's face, heard the cars through that other person's ears and noted the passage of other pedestrians, passing by some other person, in some other place.

His body took itself to a shop, one that was still open. Inyre watched as it bought some lunch, and stocked on some food and water. He watched as his hands stacked it all into a bag, then went through the motions of paying for the goods. He then watched, equally disinterested, as his body walked out of the shop, taking its haul of food and water with it.

He supposed that other person must have chosen the final remaining option. The one that he'd shied away from so long. Not because he felt it would fail him, but because he feared that it would succeed. Sometimes the threat of an answer, of discovering a horrific new truth, could be more frightening than any mere dilemma. The warm, cozy blanket of ignorance had been ripped away from him, and Inyre was not sure that he was ready for the cold, searing wind of enlightenment.

Nonetheless, that other person's feet were travelling toward a certain place.

Sometime later, Inyre observed himself to be stood out of Mundale's Biblios.

The Biblios was a big, imposing building. It was surrounded by fluted columns and a looming sandstone portico. Steps ran up to it, rising higher than Inyre's head. Far above, the roof was ringed with elaborate sculptures and scowling gargoyles. Over the door, a statue of the Emperor held a stone scroll, staring sightlessly out over the city beyond. It sternly and silently dispensed the law to the masses below. One architectural commentator, years previously, had once likened the Biblos to a particularly-garish mausoleum in one of the city's many cemeteries.

Inyre noted that his body was walking up its steps.

Theoretically, the Biblios was not for the public access. Theoretically, it was the abode of accredited scholars and theologians only. However, its security guards and its administrative staff, like about a third of Octalis's population, depended on the government for their salaries. The same government that had recently, for all practical purposes, collapsed. The same Treasury that had managed to accidentally finesse a local recession into a system-wide depression, and had then dropped itself into a budgetary crisis, and had now finally managed the utter nadir of fiscal incompetence that was actually running out of money.

With their salaries now a distant memory, the staff who manned and guarded the Biblos had eventually given up and trickled away to join the masses of looters, rioters and demonstrators who were having so much fun running rampant everywhere else across the city. The Biblios had nonhuman security measures, of course, alarms and locks and so on, but all of them needed electricity to run – and, as the proprietor's son had said, at ten this morning, the city's municipal power supply had apparently gone offline.

The Biblios was as silent as the giant mausoleum that it vaguely resembled.

Floating amidst the distant fog of dissociation, Inyre watched with a vague interest as his body walked into the quiet and coolness of the atrium. He heard the echo of his footsteps in the large hall. He watched as his body walked past a dead elevator, and then set off up a flight of stairs. He watched as his body reached a certain floor, then simply walked in, through a door that was supposed to be locked, and in fact had been until the power cut had stilled the electromagnet in the lock.

Then, Inyre watched as his body moved amongst the stacks of the Biblios. He watched as his body gathered armfuls of scrolls and grimoires, paperbacks and printed reports, and methodically carried all of them to a table over by one of the narrow, arched windows. He watched as his body added to the haul of tomes until the table was all but buried under its load of texts and codices and parchments. He then watched as his body gathered some candles from various places.

Inyre vaguely supposed that with the electric off, he'd need them later.

He put the bag of food and water-bottles down next to the table. Then Inyre went to hunt for a comfortable-looking chair. To his vague surprise, it didn't take long to find one. It seemed that whomever had furnished the Biblios, they had had a thing for leather-upholstered armchairs. Well, no matter. Inyre would be occupying the chair for some time, so comfort seemed like a reasonable choice.

He dragged the chair over to the table. The chair-legs screeched on the tiled floor but Inyre ignored it. There was no-one else here to disturb.

He settled himself into the chair. It creaked under him. He felt a pang of hunger. It seemed his stomach had finally settled itself. He set to the dull task of chomping his way through the first meal in many hours. The food was boring, bland, packaged, but its influx to his stomach seemed to restore some energy. Inyre noted that he felt more alert and more alive.

The table – he could no longer ignore it. The scrolls, grimoires and parchments were calling to him. Inyre looked at them all with a mournful expression.

'Well,' he sighed, 'it's time I learnt the truth. If you can't tell me it, then there is no truth to be had.'

With that sad declaration, he picked up a text, leaned back in the comfortable chair, and he started reading.

The Imperium liked to imagine itself as one single monolith, uncracked and united under its smooth, stony face. This was, of course, complete rubbish. With more than a million worlds amongst its members, if even as few as a single percent were in any way weird, then that would mean ten thousand weirdo-outliers. And of course the reality is that all human societies are, at least to some extent, unique. All planetary civilisations are products of the triumphs and the mistakes of the human beings who make them up, compilations of their successes and their many failures. Rather than one united monolith, it might be better to describe the Imperium as a veritable stonehenge of smaller pseudo-liths. Beneath the official declaration of absolute unity there was actually a startling degree of cultural and social diversity, admittedly with the caveat that most cultures were supremely convinced that their way was the 'right one' and their neighbours were at best misguided, perhaps more likely deluded, and maybe even – dare the dark word be whispered – heretics.

The centripetal force of all this was of course enormous. Even during periods of relative calm, the Imperium would be riven with tensions over its may sub-dogmas and heresies. To some extent the Ecclesiarchy was able to moderate this pressure, or at least tie some of the would-be combatants up in unending debate on the floor of the Synod. But, were it not for the continual inward force of the Imperium's many, many enemies, it is likely that the entire edifice would have long since exploded through the huge power of its own inexorable contradictions.

However, it hadn't, and its constituent worlds retained all their prejudices and all their distinct practises. All of these cultures had their own local beliefs, their own local pantheons of saints and their own local aberrant cults and priesthoods. All of them had opinions on the dubious views of their neighbours, and those opinions were strongly-held. In many cases, those opinions had found their way onto paper. It was this cornucopia of vociferous criticism that Mundale's Biblios had lovingly collected over the long years of its existence. If a cult maintained any significance at all in the wider Imperium, there was almost certainly at least a pamphlet or two to condemn its practises and denounce its untruths, and many of those found their way to the stacks here.

Father Inyre now found the dogma of his faith unsatisfying and untruthful. He wondered now if he would find some solace in the scepticism of its opponents.

Gambling had failed even to bankrupt him. Whoring had just left him red-faced and feeling silly. All drinking had done was make him puke five times in the same hour. Rock Bottom had supplied him with neither a bottom to his fall, nor a rock to stand on.

So Inyre resorted to the last option left to him. He sat there, inside the empty peace of the Biblios, reading everything that he could find on his church.

As he read, the final traces of illusion were burned from him. He learned that the rest of the civilised galaxy regarded his church with bafflement and disbelief. He learned that the Originist Church was widely-mocked. Far from being a single little candle of truth amidst a vast, cold ocean of unholy ignorance, the Originists were regarded as a laughable deviation. They were only just barely tolerated by the Inquisition, simply because of their practical utility for raising convenient anti-mutant mobs. They were currently too small a heresy to have yet attracted much notice from the higher reaches of the Ecclesiarchy. But they were known amongst the public – and they were known as knaves and fools. Pamphlet after pamphlet described any number of rumours about the cult, mutterings of deceits and barbaric practises and blood libels galore.

Feeling dazed, Inyre read on.

He moved from the vitriolic attacks of the popular tomes to the more austere commentary of the theologians. But these were no less shattering. The holy books of the Originists – they were exposed as the work of charlatans. Far from a single, clarion revelation from the Emperor, they were the work of multiple authors over several centuries. Even now, this revelation made Inyre squirm, but the truth of it was plain to see. The scholars were methodical and rigorous in their critiques. He could find no fault in their approaches. They highlighted common and disparate elements of certain accounts. They showed how certain supposed divine revelations in fact contradicted each other. They showed certain grammatical ticks, certain stylistic quirks, which showed beyond doubt that more than one author had been involved in several key texts.

Inyre read on, late into the night. Candle after candle burned down. He munched his way through his supply of comestibles. He had to interrupt his reading for several trips to the various bathrooms in the Biblios – he had to use a different one each time. With the power having now been off for many hours, the pumps at the city's water plant had been silent for a long time. The pressure was dropping throughout the system, and the cranking of handles and imprecations to the Omnissiah were no longer enough to summon a cleansing flush for the bowl.

Inyre was not feeling up to having to revisit his own waste. Luckily, there were ten different public restrooms to choose from, so he hoped he'd be finished here before he exhausted them.

After each excursion, he returned to the candles, the armchair and the scrolls.

Finally, a palid dawn began to break in the distance. As a diffuse pink light crept into the Biblios and the last of his candles guttered, Inyre found himself sat there in the armchair, deep in thought.

'Well,' he said aloud, 'it's proven. The Church – my Church – is a lie. No remaining question there. Maybe the other one is as well. Who knows? But now what? What for me, now?'

That feeling of fiery certainty, the iron clarity of faith – he no longer had it. He could remember having experienced it, but he couldn't quite remember how it felt. It was like there was a mist in his memory, a veil over the past. At some point during the night, Inyre had finally passed some critical boundary. He was, he realised now, a man of reason rather than a man of faith. Belief was not enough – he needed evidence now.

It occurred to Inyre that by any reasonable standard, he was already a raving heretic. But then, he supposed, he already had been a heretic – all his life. How he had never realised this was hard to credit now – but the Originist Church taught that the faith of the Imperium was the truth of life. Except that faith was the Imperial Cult, not the Originist one, in which case Originism was of itself heresy.

Except that this simple paradox appeared completely lost on the Originists themselves. For years, it had been lost on Inyre himself.

He felt as if there were compartments in his mind, little locked boxes containing thoughts. Those boxes had never talked to each other. Only now, in the chilly light of dawn, were those boxes finally dissolving and as the partitioned thoughts commingled and merged and grew, a reluctant sort of truth was finally coming to him.

'Fact one,' he said aloud again. 'Originism contradicts itself. Truth must not, by definition, contradict itself. Therefore, Originism is not truth.'

He shuddered, feeling a final surge of emotion. There. He'd said it. He'd badly stated the facts at the core of his dilemma.

'If one church can be false, so can another.' He took a breath. 'And I have been deceived once – I can't complain any special vision. Since I know my perceptions are flawed, I have no right to declare anything else true. The only evidence I have is that of my own senses. And it's not enough. It proves nothing, except the provisional fact of my own existence.'

Outside, a bird trilled. It at least was unperturbed by the chaos in the world. For a moment Inyre envied it with a hot bitterness. Then the passion faded. There was no point in rancour toward the avian – it had done no harm to him.

He spoke again. 'It seems faith has no answers for me. So I must turn to material things.'

He knew the way this sort of thing was supposed to go.

'I should collapse into a spiral of decadence,' he said to himself. 'Devote myself to the soft and sensual. Needing more and more of it with every iteration. Until I collapse into a pit of amorality – like that bastard Chaos Marine.' He paused. 'Except, I've tried excess already. And it did nothing for me. It just made me embarrassed and vomit.'

He didn't feel like he was about to embark on a downward spiral of psychotic over-indulgence. In fact, after yesterday's hangover, Inyre wasn't sure he wanted to indulge again, ever. The morning after, Rock Bottom had left quite a nasty after-taste.

'So,' he asked himself, 'what do I want? I can't trust myself enough to declare any faith true. If one can be false, so can all the others. Maybe none of them are true. But if there is no grand plan to life, then what meaning can there be?'

Then something strange happened. Inyre wasn't quite sure how to describe it. It was as if a long line of dominoes started falling inside his head. Or perhaps a line of streetlights, flashing into light as some odd power surge ripped through the circuits. But however it should be described, something was happening inside his head.

Then Inyre realised and understood what he was feeling. He was having an idea – for the first time in his life, _he was having an idea_!

He shuddered, then he reluctantly accepted the insight.

'The only meaning in this life that I can be sure of,' he said, 'is the meaning that I choose for myself! Life may be aimless and without plan, but I don't have to be. I can give my wanderings purpose and direction, if so I choose!

'So – _what do I want_?'

His eyes gravitated toward the window. He stared out over the city, stained pinkish with the dawn-light. Here and there he could see plumes of smoke rising, oily and black, into the sky.

'A further thought,' he said, 'I can't prove that other people and other things exist. For an absolute fact, that is. But I can't disprove their existence, either.' He felt a mounting excitement. Maybe he could see a little glimmer of light, a small hint of a way out of this maze. 'And I certainly feel like they exist. Since I can't prove otherwise, I shall provisionally accept the existence of the world.' He felt silly saying that, but he also felt a sense of relief. 'Of course, the idea of an afterlife seems even more dubious than ever.' He glanced at the texts in front of him. 'The small amount of evidence for that – it's not enough. A lot of it looks like skak. So … I'll provisionally accept other people. But I shan't bother with supposed powers-that-be. Certainly things of some sort seem to dwell in the Warp – but what are they really? If their nature is unknowable, then what right do I have to call them gods or devils?'

He shuddered again as he noted the dazzling scope of his own growing heresy.

'What do I want? I want – I suppose I want to be happy, basically. Maybe I have no rational reason for it. Maybe it happiness is just a fuzz of chemicals in my brain. But I want it all the same – and so why shouldn't I have it? But what's stopping me from having it?'

He looked out of the window, and he saw the smoke rising over the dying city beyond. 'That is,' he said. 'I don't want to just exist for myself.' He thought of the Chaos Marine again. 'I'm not happy doing so. I don't like the idea of other people suffering like this. I can't be happy until – until they are too!'

This second insight ripped through his brain without warning. The chair creaked as he leaned back. He felt a final category-error fall apart within his mind. All throughout his life, Inyre had heard so many twisted interpretations of the virtues of sacrifice and duty that he had implicitly come to assume that the lesser good of the individual was always wholly-opposed to the greater good of society as a whole. It had never occurred to him that maybe sometimes, his own interests might coincide with those of others – that there was not necessarily any conflict between the individual and society!

In another momentary insight, he wondered if this idea had ever occurred to the Chaos Marine.

'I want this to stop,' he said. 'I want the killing to stop. If people have only the one life, then it should be a good one.'

But there was one further road-block within his own mind.

'But how can I do that?' he said. 'How can I, one small, weak, elderly human being? How can I oppose an army of devils and maniacs?'

He was nearing the final, inner core of his true dilemma. He'd been hiding from it for too long. As Octalis rose outside, he finally acknowledged to himself that he had to face that truth.

He swallowed in sudden nervousness.

He took a deep breath. 'I know something that could help that. I know that the forces of Chaos are active here.' Briefly he wondered what Chaos implied for his newfound atheism. He supposed perhaps it might be akin to some sort of destructive and corrosive force of nature, a sort of rot or a sort of hurricane, than necessarily something genuinely divine. He remembered the Word Bearers at Jenneko. He realised they may have been just as deluded as he had been, back then.

But that was a debate for another time. There was another, more immediate, matter to attend to first.

He spoke again. 'But I've not wanted to use that knowledge.. Because there's only one force that can effectively oppose them here. The Space Marines. And of course Originism teaches that they're abominations – mutation by another name.'

He took a shaky breath. Almost there. He could feel it, a rising sense of triumph. He was so close to resolving the dilemma, the storm of doubt and fear that had crippled him for so long. 'But,' he said, 'everything else Originism teaches is false – _so why not this_? What if the Space Marines are no more inherently-sinful than the rest of us? If sin has no meaning, why fear it?'

He leaned back into the chair. It creaked under him. He slumped back against the backrest, exhausted by his inner struggle. 'I want,' he said, 'the strife here to end. So people can live the only lives they have. And to do that – for any chance of that – I have to tell the Storm Ravens what I know.' He looked out of the window, at the sunrise beyond. 'I have to go to the Ravenholme.'


	65. Chapter 65 An Unnatural Allergy

Forty-eight hours before the _Wrath_ was fired upon, Doctor Leora had a sneezing fit.

As the last of the convulsions subsided, Phelonas remarked, 'You have allergies?'

'No,' Leora sniffled. She felt a moment of irritation at the question. What a silly thing to bother her with! It was only a sneeze! 'Just a bit of dust, I think.'

'I do hope your pet isn't getting sick,' a new voice said. It was Tarrak. His scarred face scowled at Phelonas. 'That would be inconvenient.'

Leora felt a fresh surge of anger. She didn't like being patronised by a thug like Tarrak. 'I'll have you know,' she growled, 'I'm no-one's pet. Now don't you have things to do, instead of annoying us?'

She glared up at Tarrak. She could hear her pulse, thudding inside her ears. She became aware that she was shaking.

'My,' Tarrak said, 'she almost sounds like you.' He shot Phelonas a parting glance, then turned and walked off. His boots squelched in the mud.

Behind them, the rip in the air had been expanded. A stream of Chaos Marines was flooding through, as Tarrak's troops made their way to Delta. The little clearing atop the cliff had changed – the grass had been churned up by the stomping of ceramite boots. There was a growing gash in the forest – work-teams of Tarrak's slaves were pulling down the trees, to clear the way for the Bloodtakers' vehicles. Several of the vehicles had arrived already. Given choice between riding in the rickety van she and Phelonas had driven down in, or one of the dirty, badly-maintained Rhinos, Leora knew which she would choose. The van looked almost new by comparison.

'Are you sure you're okay?' Phelonas asked.

'Yes!' she snapped. They were surrounded by a cacophony – saws ripping into trees, engines rumbling, feet thudding into the earth and Chaos Marines shouting and growling. The hubbub was getting on her nerves. 'I'm fine!' she said.

Phelonas's horned helmet regarded her silently for a moment. Then he said, 'Well, if you're sure.'

'How long before we get moving?' she asked.

Phelonas looked at the red- and brass-armoured stream that was emerging from the rip in the air. 'Not long, I'd have thought,' he said. 'In fact that looks like the last of them now.'

He was right. As she watched, the stream was visibly diminishing.

Moments later, the force was fully assembled – at least, in as far as a mass of Khornate warriors can ever be said to be 'assembled'. A quick headcount revealed that they still had almost as many troops as they'd started out with.

'Only losing three in transit,' Phelonas said, 'isn't that bad. For berserkers.'

'Really?' Leora asked.

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'They must be looking forward to the slaughter ahead. Normally they're as much at war with each other as with everyone else.'

'They're looking forward to it?' she asked, incredulous.

'Yes,' Phelonas said. 'Fighting Space Marines on their home ground … that promises to be an epic battle, at least to their way of thinking.'

'Or a bloodbath,' she said.

'Then all the better,' Phelonas replied. 'They don't care that much where the bood comes from, remember. Berzerkers don't suffer from self-preservation.'

Her distaste for Space Marines came flooding back in full force. Leora shuddered, revolted. 'That's inhuman!' she said.

Phelonas said nothing for a moment. She could see herself as two fish-eyed reflections, in the eye-lenses of his helmet. 'Yes,' he said, 'you're right, of course. By any reasonable standard, Space Marines are inhuman. Of course, not everyone considers being human so wonderful.'

She looked at the Chaos Marines around them. 'So that's what you think the Emperor had in mind for Humanity.'

'Not all of it,' Phelonas said, 'like I said, or even the vast majority of it. Only the small chunk that he perceived as useful. His utopia wasn't one with any place for ordinary people.'

A Bloodtaker stomped past. He was missing half of one of his shoulder pads – Leora could see wires and cables and various bits of the servo-mechanism underneath. The Chaos Marine seemed either not to care about the damage, or possibly he wasn't even aware of it. His gaze was fixated on the massive, double-headed chain axe he was carrying. The teeth were splattered with dried blood. Leora caught a nasty stink, coming from the bits of rotting gristle stuck in the chainblade. From the haft of the axe dangled a line of skulls. They hung from a length of chain that had been threaded through the holes in them.

The Bloodtaker walked off, his line of skulls rattling.

'Well,' Leora said, 'it certainly looks like that plan failed.'

'One could perhaps argue that it worked too well,' Phelonas mused. 'After all, the Emperor wanted mindlessly obedient warriors – and he got them. So when their commanders went off-message, they all just went with them. Perhaps the system didn't fail – it just worked too well! Hang on a moment.'

He reached to one of his belt pouches with his free hand and dug out a small slate. Leora watched, puzzled, as the sorcerer tucked his sword under one arm. Producing a stylus from somewhere, he started scribbling something onto the slate's screen.

'What are you doing?' she asked.

'Don't mind me,' Phelonas said. 'I'm just making a note of that. It might be worth re-visiting later. Wouldn't want to forget it.'

Apparently finished with his note-taking, Phelonas returned the small slate and the stylus to the pouch.

'When do we get under way?' Leora asked.

'Down to the Ravenholme? Not long.'

'What about the Originists?' she asked.

'We'll be meeting up with them there,' Phelonas said. 'Or at least those are the instructions I've given them.'

'Wouldn't it be an idea to join forces sooner?' she said.

Phelonas shook his head. 'No. I mean, yes, normally it would be. But remember these are Originists we're talking about. They're pretty stupid, but they do know roughly what shape a Space Marine is. And the less time they have to realise that their new, uh, allies are actually the spawn of Horus…' Phelonas snorted.

'Oh yes,' she said, 'that's a point.'

Phelonas stepped closer and lowered his voice. 'Remember what our aim actually is, Doctor. We aren't aiming to actually defeat the Ravens – I think that's unlikely, overall. What we're aiming to do is break through the outer defences and get into the Ravenholme itself. Whether Tarrak and the religious nuts survive beyond then – well, that's not really our concern, is it?'

She nodded. 'Okay, point taken.'

The next few hours passed painfully slowly. Leora had never given any thought to just how much waiting around that seemed to be involved in the business of war. Getting a load of fractious, angry, hair-trigger violent Chaos Marines properly marshalled took some time. In the time it had taken the Bloodtakers to cross through the rip, several fights had broken out amongst the advance guard. Before it got out of hand, Tarrak had to personally knock out several of the more-unstable Bloodtakers.

Finally they were all loaded onto the appropriate vehicles, and enough of the trees were cleared to get to the nearest forest track. The convoy moved out. Tarrak didn't bother warning his slaves first – several of them were crushed under the tank tracks and the rest scattered.

They watched in baffled abandonment as the convoy drove off. Some of them looked toward the rip, unsure what to do. Others decided now would be a good time to quietly melt away into the woods. Several particularly hopeless specimens simply sat there, apathetically, near the rip. With neither shelter nor provisions, their likelihood of surviving any great time in the woods wasn't high.

It was ten hours later when Leora had her next sneezing fit.

The convoy had emerged from the forests by then and was moving back into cultivated and populated areas. So far they'd encountered no resistance. Some of that was due to the uninhabited nature of their arrival-area. Another part of it was due to the state of complete disorganisation that was sweeping Delta – there were surveillance satellites and all sorts of automated warning systems, but the people who manned them hadn't been paid in weeks. Most of them were more worried about where the next meal was coming from then their nominal jobs and even of the ones who were still concerned about their work, few of them were at their posts.

Still, it was inevitable that sooner or later, an expedition of this scale would attract a degree of attention. Amongst those defence staff who had managed to find the motivation to go to work and the subset of that group who were physically-able to get there – not possible everywhere, given the degree of unrest – they had already noticed some hints of movement in the forest. Some of the more exotic sensing equipment on the satellites was noticing something odd near the falls – Phelonas's spatial rip was hardly a subtle construction, after all. Since eyes were beginning to turn in that direction, it was only a matter of time before the emergence of the convoy was spotted.

The convoy's presence was noted. It failed to respond to any attempts to raise its commanders. Although the vehicles approximated to Astartes patterns, the markings and colours weren't those of the Ravens. Normally at this point figurative and literal alarm-bells would have been howling across half the continent, and the Chapter would have been alerted in short order. Indeed, there were several attempts to follow this procedure. However, the planet-wide state of social meltdown complicated the usual strategy. Communications links were down in places, either abandoned by their staff or physically-damaged during riots. In some places, there were staff and relative calmness, but no electricity. In other places where there was power and relative peace, key people were missing from various organisations. Chains of command had breakages in them, junior staff found themselves thrust into roles they weren't quite sure of or briefed for and senior staff found themselves baffled as to whom they should be questioning for tactical information – if indeed they had the communications links to gather the needed data to start with.

Even in places where all of these pieces were available and in place, there were still problems. Delta's PDF was under-manned, with many of its regiments deployed off-world to support the Ravens. Of the PDF units still on-planet, many of them were committed to civil-defence and riot-suppression. Given that there were a lot more hungry and homeless rioters than there were troops, many of these units were effectively pinned down. Redeployment would take precious time.

This was central to Phelonas's plan. Hit the Ravenholme fast and hard, before the local defence forces had a chance to launch an effective counter-attack. He had no illusions about the Deltan forces remaining confused forever – an attack on the fortress-monastery would certainly trigger some sort of response – but all he needed to do was get inside it. He wasn't greatly concerned about what happened afterwards, and he certainly wasn't bothered about the life expectancies of either Tarrak's troops or the Originists. They were a means to an ends and nothing else.

Despite the chaos enveloping the planet, however, there was still some resistance here and there. This was only to be expected – and in fact, Phelonas was counting on it.

The Bloodtakers, he thought, would need to get to shed at least some blood while on the way. Otherwise, being cooped up in the Rhinos might get too much for the Berzerkers. His plan would crumble if they all killed each other on the long drive south.

The first burst of resistance happened just outside a small town called Rheesh. Rheesh itself was a place of little account. It was a cluster of dilapidated houses sat around a cross-roads between two provincial roads. It had one pub – known locally for the proprietor's shocking habit of watering the beer -, two shops and a church. Rheesh itself was a poor town, populated almost entirely by people from the bottom levels of Octalian society. No-one in the more fortunate classes cared very much about it, or indeed was much aware that it was there. It was a bankrupt sort of place, populated by bankrupt people. There weren't any jobs and the countryside wasn't even a little pretty, just flat, rolling and boring. Travellers had no reason to stop in Rheesh, and few ever did. But for the day's events, the tiny town would have been set to be a fading and forgotten place, doomed to slip between the pages of the history books and eventually wind up as nothing more than a few rows of half-buried bricks and a name on a map.

Ironically, it was about to receive its sole claim to fame, as the site of the first battle of the Octalian Incursion.

The traitorous convoy drove into Rheesh fifteen minutes before Leora's next sneezing fit. At about the same time, a detachment of Octalian PDF troops were setting up a roadblock near the junction of the crossroads. Rheesh's sole merit as a place was that it wasn't difficult to get into or out of it - the locals never missed a chance to do the latter. The crossroads was also easy to find on a map. And as a place that was already essentially bankrupt, oddly enough, the government shutdown hadn't had as much effect on Rheesh as it had in the surrounding area. Instead of rioting or protesting, the people of Rheesh were sat around at home in their usual state of sullen apathy.

As such, there was nothing to obstruct the small Imperial force as it took up station, and nothing to distract them. Also given the state of the surrounding region, the approaching convoy would almost certainly have to pass through here.

The convoy, of course, did.

As soon as Phelonas became aware of the obstruction ahead, he dropped a few commands. The Rhinos pulled ahead. The Imperial troops behind the crude barricade saw them coming and loosed off some shots, only to see the Rhinos shrug off the small-arms fire.

Then the APCs pulled up and disgorged their contents.

None of the Octalian PDF troops had ever seen a Chaos Marine before, let alone up close. In fact, they only had the vaguest of ideas that there might be such a thing. It was fair to say that they had no idea what hit them, and none of them had long enough left to figure it out.

What happened at Rheesh was more of a slaughter than a battle. Some of the PDF troops got off a few shots, only to see them bounce uselessly off the Berzerker's armour. None of the troops got a chance at a second shot. The rumble of autoguns was decisively answered with the whine and growl of chain axes and chainswords. It was over within minutes.

Unsatisifed by this small amount of bloodshed, the Chaos Marines rampaged over the rest of the town.

Fifteen minutes after the convoy's arrival in Rheesh, not a single structure was left standing. Some of the less apathetic locals had managed to flee into the countryside, perhaps figuring that the flat, dull cabbage-fields were preferable to a now-not-so-boring town. The rest ended up dead in short order. It wasn't helped by several attempts at resistance – these pathetic and weak efforts only enraged the Chaos Marines further, making them all the more thorough in their murderous activity.

Leora sat this out inside the van. She heard the howl of chainblades. She heard gunshots and screaming. She heard crunches and thuds and other noises. After a while a scent of burning entered the van, followed by a hot, coppery scent.

Leora sniffed at it. That coppery scent caught her attention. She frowned.

The sneezing fit happened without warning.

She sneezed for several minutes. Phelonas watched, head tilted. Finally she managed to control herself.

'What?' she demanded, glaring at him.

'You know what an allergy is?' Phelonas said.

She frowned. 'Yes. A misplaced immune response. Phelonas, I am a doctor. You do remember that, don't you?'

'But why has your body decided to have an immune response now?' Phelonas said. 'After all, it's not under attack from anything. Or is it, Doctor?'

Leora felt annoyed. She was about to bite off some sarcastic one-liner when there was a pounding at the van's door. The van rocked on its wheels and the sound thundered in the small space.

'Open up!' shouted Tarrak's voice.

Phelonas sighed. 'Let me deal with this!' He got up, ducking a little so as not to impale his helmet-horns on the roof. He stomped over and gestured at the door with his sword.

The door clicked open.

'What do you want?' Phelonas demanded. 'Why are we still sat here – haven't you dealt with them all yet?'

Tarrak was stood just outside. His chain-axe was strill dripping with fresh blood and he was casually gripping his storm bolter in the other hand. His Terminator suit was splashed with some fresh blood. Leora noted there was some more lined around his cracked mouth. She was surprised by her own reaction – far from feeling disgusted by the implied atrocity, part of her actually felt like it was the first sensible thing she'd seen Tarrak do. She supposed that even Chaos Marines had to eat sometimes.

'Your pet medic,' Tarrak growled. 'Bring it. We need it.'

'Bring _it_?' Leora almost exploded there and then. 'Bring it? Well, excuse me! I am here, you know!' She stood up and glared straight at Tarrak. As she was stood inside the van, she was more than a foot above the ground and thus was actually staring him in the eye. She didn't feel in the slightest bit intimidated by the huge Traitor. Instead she just felt angry. After all the work she'd put into this scheme, to be treated like that!

Furious, she stomped forward. She jumped down onto the road. 'So where's your damaged goods, then?'

'There.' Tarrak pointed with his axe. 'Deal with it.'

She looked in the direction he'd indicted. She blinked. It was actually someone she'd met before – Skyric, from inside the Mahaal.

He was stood some way back. For whatever reason, Skyric had gone into the onslaught without his helmet. One of the PDF soldiers, doing rather better than any of his comrades, had actually managed to injure the Chaos Marine. Skyric was bleeding freely from the side of his head and his eyes weren't quite focused.

Leora walked over, looking critically at the wound. She felt a remarkable degree of contempt for the Bloodtaker in front of her. She noted that his helmet was clipped to his belt. 'Well,' she said to Skyric, 'that really wasn't very clever, was it?'

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Phelonas had moved away from the van. He wasn't near her, but he'd positioned himself where he had a good view of the encounter. All around them, smoke rose lazily from tumble-down wreckage. Broken bits of wood and drifts of displaces bricks spilled all over the place. Here and there, some fires were taking hold. There were human bodies, scattered everywhere.

There was some sort of annoying noise, trying to catch her attention. Irritated, she ignored it. There was something much more interesting to focus on. It was red, liquid and splashed all over the scene around her.

That remarkable coppery smell – she realised it was blood. She felt silly for a moment. Leora supposed she should really have realised that sooner. She sniffed deeply, inhaling. It was a fascinating smell. It had never occurred to her just how different, how interesting, the smell of blood was…

'…are you listening to me, worthless human?'

She blinked. That noise she'd ignored – it was Skyric, talking! He'd been saying something to her, and she'd been completely blanking him. She glanced back at him. 'Could you please shut up? I'm looking at all the blood.'

She noticed Phelonas twitch. Now why had he reacted to that? It seemed patently obvious that all the spilled blood was the most interesting thing in this area. Why wouldn't anyone want to stare at it, all day? There was a big puddle just nearby, in fact. She could see reflections of the half-clouded sky, rippling over the carmine surface…

'Are you mad?' she heard Skyric say. 'Or are you more of a ghoul than I am?' He paused. She didn't answer. She was busy staring at the puddle. He said, wonderingly, 'I actually think you are. You actually are! Is it that what your boyfriend over there sees in you?'

He waved a hand at Phelonas.

Leora looked up, eyes abruptly focusing on Skyric. Her nostrils flared. 'What – what did you just say?'

Skyric's eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, he actually looked a bit nervous.

'What did you just say?' she grated. The feeling of building rage was almost irresistible now. She was shaking. Dimly, she noted that her fists were balled.

In the background, she heard Phelonas saying something. 'We're not any sort of item. We just both have skills the other needs. It's all quite normal. Skyric, stop baiting her! Something isn't right here…'

'Damn right it isn't,' she growled, not looking away from Skyric.

She took a step forward.

The Chaos Marine raised his blade, a momentary, instinctive gesture. That was all it took. Leora saw the light glinted on the bloodied teeth, and her remaining shred of self-control snapped.

The world vanished into a red-hot haze of all-consuming rage.

Some time later – she had no idea how long – Leora came back to herself. She was sat on the road surface. She felt cold and exhausted. She was shivering. Looking down, she saw her clothes were frayed and torn and splattered with blood. In fact, she was drenched with it. Blood, everywhere.

Even, she realised, in her mouth.

She didn't feel angry any more. She now felt a moment of pure fear. Skyric – the Chaos Marine – what had she done?

She looked around, but there was no sign of him. In front of her was a mangled heap of – something. She frowned, staring at it. She had an unpleasant suspicion that it might originally have been a person, although it was too much of a mess to be wholly sure.

Then she became aware of the weight in her hands.

She looked down. Sat across her lap, she had Skyric's blade. His hand, in its gauntlet, was still attached to it. Leora stared, feeling a growing horror inside her. What had just happened?

She looked up again. As well as the pile of offal, there were lots of broken bits of metal and wire and mechanical bits scattered around. There was quite a lot of them, some items more intact than others. Over there was a Chaos Marine's backpack, largely intact except for five long claw-slashes down its back. Over here was half of a greave. Off to one side, thrown some distance, was the helmet.

She began to develop a horrible suspicion about what had just happened.

Leora looked down at her arm and swallowed in renewed surprise. It was fading fast, but her skin had looked red and scaly. Even as she watched, the remaining impression subsided back into normal human flesh.

'Well,' she heard a voice say, 'that's one way of dealing with the injured. I suppose.' It was Tarrak – she recognised him.

Shakily, she managed to stand. She discovered that she was stood at the centre of a very wide ring of Chaos Marines. Chaos Marines – keeping their distance! From her! The enormity of what had just happened began to settle in on her.

She noted Phelonas was still there, off to one side.

He said, 'You did swallow some daemon, didn't you?'

She remembered the coppery taste in her mouth. 'I – maybe,' she croaked. Her voice sounded parched and her throat felt sore, as if it hadn't quite returned to its usual configuration. 'What happened?'

'You did,' Phelonas said. 'To Skyric. Or rather, whatever's sharing your body happened to Skyric. It was … impressive.'

She boggled, staring at the mound of organic and ceramite wreckage. Already it was attracting flies. Their buzz was annoying. 'I … did all that?'

Phelonas nodded. 'Yes.' He tilted his head again. 'I think I may have guessed wrong.'

'About what?' she asked.

'You,' he said. 'I thought you were driven mainly by despair. If that was the dominant feeling, then maybe taking you somewhere Khorn-tainted would be okay. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You're not despairing at all. Deep down, you're angry. You're so very, very angry. Part of you just wants to smash stuff, doesn't it?'

She gawped at him, not knowing what to say.

He continued, 'Probably that's not what you've told yourself. I imagine you have some sort of justifying framework bolted on top of it. You must do, to have held on this long. In fact, given what's living in you, you must be pretty damn impressively self-controlled. Particularly given that this is an accidental possession, rather than a planned-and-pacted one. When you morphed then, I thought you were gone. Forever.'

'Morphed?' She shuddered. 'I … what?'

'When you took on the daemon's form,' Phelonas told her. 'Just before you shredded Skyric there. With your bare hands. Well done, by the way – he was a truly irritating little skakker. I think the average quality of life in the galaxy just went up slightly, in fact. Good riddance.'

'I … was a daemon?'

'Sort of. Look, it can't live here. This continuum doesn't support daemons. It tales a lot of work for them to live here. It's like teleporting humans into the vacuum of space – it's just not an environment they're designed for. But if it can shield itself … right now, it's effectively using you as, I suppose, a sort of meaty periscope. Or using the vacuum analogy, you're now a sort of living spacesuit for it.'

She shuddered. 'That's possibly the grossest thing you've said.'

He shrugged. 'Get used to it. Daemonic possession isn't pretty. It's a fundamentally gross thing. It's using your anger. Like drawing water from a well. As our universe tries to dry it out, bleed it off, it can drink. From you. Replenishing the psychic energy it keeps losing. Maybe that's why it hasn't simply consumed you in one go – you're too much the perfect host. It probably isn't going to get another one as good as this any time soon. So it needs to be a bit gentle, at least for now. Daemons do have a certain low cunning, and they certainly understand self-interest.' He tucked his pistol under one arm and reached for the pouch with the slate. 'This is quite unexpected. I really should make a note…'

'So now what?' Leora asked.

'Now what?' Phelonas had produced the slate and was fiddling with the on-key. 'Oh, we carry on south. When we get to the Ravensholme, we find some particularly big bit of resistance and turn you loose on it.'

'WHAT?'

He looked right at her. 'But my dear doctor,' he said, 'haven't you always wanted to kill Space Marines? Now here's your chance!'


	66. Chapter 66 Apocalypse Countdown

'Well, this is familiar, isn't it?' Patreus said.

'Cozy,' Nasty said.

They were sat behind the cockpit of the Thunderhawk once more, strapped in. Alaster was sat at the end of the row of seats. The Inquisitor was in the spare seat behind him. Along with her was Magos Kelso, who'd surprised everyone by insisting that they needed her professional help. Kodos had initially been keen to refuse her, but there just hadn't been time. It had been easier to accommodate her than to delay any further.

The Thunderhawk was currently sat on the flight deck of the _Wrath_, undergoing its last pre-flight checks. They would receive launch clearance in the next few minutes, and then evacuation of the deck's air would begin. After that, once the silence of empty space settled over the vast chamber, the doors would slide open and they would enter the night beyond.

Kodos was sat just behind the pilot. 'Right everyone,' he said, 'are you all strapped in? Karo, are your lot under control?'

Alaster took a quick look at Nasty and Patreus. They both seemed to be behaving themselves, although Alaster did wonder if Nasty could ever really be described as being under control. Whether controlled or not, they were both strapped in. 'They're ready,' he reported.

Kodos nodded. 'Okay. Eorvan?'

A staticky voice spoke over the intercom. 'Everything's okay down here, Sergeant.'

'Adequate,' Kodos said, grudgingly. Behind him, something on one of the pilot's consoles started beeping. The woman reached out and flailed her hand at a button, looking annoyed. The sound cut off.

'Anything important?' Kodos asked.

'No, Brother-Sergeant,' she said. 'Just the autoguide. It wants a destination.'

Kodos nodded. 'A destination. Now there's the question. I have to decide where we're going, don't I? How long do we have until the deck opens?'

'Six minutes, Brother-Sergeant,' the pilot said.

Six minutes. All the time in the world. Alaster tried to settle himself in the chair. He was feeling uneasy. The planet they were going to was Delta. His homeworld. This promised to be ugly.

He shifted his weight. The upholstery creaked beneath him. The interior of the Thunderhawk was filled with the quiet hiss of the ventilation system, as was ever present on spacecraft. He took a deep breath, the artificial scent of the air filling his nostrils.

'So,' Kodos said, 'where should we go? Any bright ideas, anyone?'

Alaster blinked. Was the sergeant unsure? Had the world turned upside down? Or was Kodos just veiling his sarcasm somewhat?

Whether sarcastic or not, the Inquisitor apparently took it as a genuine question. She said, 'Heresy is all about people. Try starting where there are people, Brother-Sergeant.'

Kodos scowled. 'With respect, my lady, there's a planet full of them over there. Four billion or so, I think.'

She sighed. 'I meant the population centres, Brother-Sergeant. The population centres. They're not all stood at random in the fields, are they?'

Something peeped on one of the consoles. The pilot reached out to do something else. Alaster tried to ignore the small distraction. He heard a clang from outside the fuselage as some antenna retracted itself.

'Perhaps we should cover the big cities,' Alaster suggested. 'There might be an obvious one. For us to start looking, I mean.'

Kodos sighed. 'If you must.'

'The capital,' Alaster said.

The Inqusitor shook her head. 'Too obvious. Heretics tend to avoid places with a lot of Imperial activity. Or at least, the long-lived ones do, anyway.'

Nasty shot a snide glance at Alaster. 'I raise you Colvin.'

The Inquisitor looked puzzled. 'Where's that?'

'Exactly,' Nasty said.

Alaster winced. 'That's where I'm from,' he explained. 'It's in the middle of nowhere. The south-east coast of Primaris.'

The Inquisitor frowned. 'Primaris is the main continent, isn't it?'

'There's a clue in the name,' Nasty put in.

'Watch your mouth, Mildly Irritating!' Kodos barked.

It was Nasty's turn to wince. Alaster had to bite back a momentary burst of laughter. Patreus was less successful, snorting audibly.

'Primaris is the biggest continent, isn't it?' the Inquisitor said. They all nodded. She added, 'I believe you've only got two?'

'Yes,' Kodos said.

'Hmm.' She frowned. 'That's not many.'

'It's an old planet and an old star,' Kelso put in. 'Three gigayears older than Terra. Plate tectonics has pretty much run down, so there isn't much land-formation going on anymore. Everything's sort of ground to a holt. Probably there were more landmasses, a few billion years ago. Now all that's left are the big landmasses, pushed up by the big hotspot volcanoes. Not many of them left! Eventually, those will go quiet too.'

'What then?' Alaster asked, feeling curious.

The shoulder-shapes under the Tech-Priestess's red robes shrugged. 'Then erosion will gradually wear away the remaining rock. Eventually, the ocean will win. A world of shallow and salty seas. And then some time after that, Octalis will go out. Not for a while yet, though. K-dwarfs burn pretty slowly. You've got a good few aeons yet before Delta is quite done for.'

Alaster shivered inside his suit. He was reminded once more of the vast cosmic forces he'd sensed during the Riothrian eclipse, and whilst watching the fall of the hive ship. Human affairs, it sometimes seemed, were but the smallest instant of activity when compared to the slow epochs of the galaxy.

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed by this sense of the scope of the cosmos, Alaster focused on the double-headed eagle engraved above one of the consoles in front of him. A small votive candle dribbled and flickered next to it, mounted into a secure sconce. Alaster drew some sense of comfort from the visible symbols of his faith.

'Thank you for that,' the Inquisitor said to the Magos. 'I may even have understood some of it.' To everyone else, she said, 'I gather Primaris is the most densely-populated region of Delta, yes?'

'It has three quarters of the population,' Kodos said, 'or thereabouts. Secundus is smaller and the climate's not so great. My lady, please don't take it the wrong way, but is this critical?'

'Four minutes,' the pilot said. Something behind Alaster clunked. Some umbilical had disengaged from the belly of the Thunderhawk. Dimly, through the fuselage, he could hear the sound of the decompression sirens. They always started a good few minutes before the decompression cycle began – a fairly sensible safety measure!

'Yes,' Lady Sharrow said calmly, 'actually I think it is. I'm not from around here. It probably isn't a bad idea to check my knowledge against the natives. I have to rely on second- and third-hand accounts, after all! Anyway, this has been productive. We know which landmass we're going to now.'

'Do we?' Nasty sounded surprised.

'It's Primaris,' Patreus put in, sounding dry. 'That's where the people are – or most of them. So if anything's happening, it most likely started there!'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Yes. Now, let's drop the capital. As I said, too obvious. What about the other prominent cities? Moderately big places. Decent transport links. Trading centres. That sort of thing. Anywhere that jumps out?'

'Sothis?' Kodos made a suggestion this time.

The Inquisitor frowned, looking unconvinced. 'That's quite a ways out to the north, isn't it? And I gather it's got a big Ecclesiarchy presence there too. I don't know … I can't quite see it, to be honest.'

'Tannenda?' Alaster suggested.

'It won't be Tannenda,' Kodos said. 'That place's about as Imperial as you get. Besides, Tannenda's a bit small for a base of operations. Less than a million people.'

'See, everyone?' Lady Sharrow said. 'We're making progress. We've already ruled several places out.'

'There's Loyalty Bay,' Patreus said. 'That's pretty big. Two million people, I think.' He paused, then added, 'The monastery was near there. The one I was in, I mean.'

'Loyalty Bay?' The Inquisitor looked surprised. 'People still live there? I thought that was a fiasco.'

'That was the first colony,' Alaster said. 'It was on Loyalty Bay. The city sort of happened later.'

'It was a fiasco,' Kodos agreed. 'Half of them died.'

'That was when we found out about the potassium problem,' Alaster added. 'Apparently no-one had thought to check the soil. Then the colonists started getting ill. And for a while, no-one knew why.'

'And people came back there?' the Inquisitor sounded surprised.

'That was about seven thousand years ago,' Patreus said. 'I guess memories fade.'

'What else is in Loyalty Bay?' she asked. 'Anything of note? That might attract heretics?'

'There's the Pole,' Alaster said.

'What's that?'

'It's in Liberty Square. Where they put King Langlos's head.'

She blinked. 'The king? I didn't know you had a king.'

'We don't any more,' Patreus said.

'Not if his head ended up on a pole,' Nasty added. 'It's a bit difficult to be all kingly while stuck on a pole.'

'Three minutes!' the pilot announced.

The Inquisitor blinked. 'Head on a -? How recent was this?'

'The fall of the monarchy,' Kodos said, 'was just after the end of Lord Vandire and the Reign of Blood. It was part of all those problems.'

'Oh,' she said. 'So good few thousand years ago.'

Kodos nodded. 'The regime change was eventually ratified by the Administratum, of course. After the usual delays. There's an urban legend that the Provisional Government offered the Administratum sub-bureau chief a particularly nice mansion-dome on the Moon. The legend says he was quite helpful after that – and they signed the documents in his new drawing room! All scurrilous lies, of course.'

'Of course,' she said, nodding. There was a cynical glint in her eyes.

'The monarchy's fall,' Alaster said, 'happened about a century before the Chapter was founded. In fact it partly led to it. The Provisional Government felt it had a lot to prove. So it built itself a fleet, and set about re-unifying the Sector. And actually managed it. Without outside help. That impressed a lot of people. There's a big monument to the Octalian Crusade down near the harbourside in Loyalty Bay.' He paused. A fan clunked inside its casing. He wondered if it was the same one they'd had to listen to all the way to the hotel on Majoris? He wasn't even sure if this was the same Thunderhawk. He said, 'I've seen the monument. My family went on a pilgrimage there when I was six. It's a big black obsidian thing, with gold lettering on it.'

'Your family must have been very devout,' the Inquisitor said.

Alaster snorted. 'Not really. It was just an excuse to get my father a couple of extra days off work. It worked, too. I didn't really know what they were doing, at the time, but it's kind of obvious now.'

The Inquisitor frowned. 'Somehow, though, I'm not thinking that heretics are going to congregate near a place of pilgrimage. Least of all one that honours the founding of a Chapter. I'm guessing the Chapter visits it sometimes too?'

Kodos nodded. 'We send a delegation on Ascenscion Day.'

'Then they're definitely not going anywhere near that,' she said, sounding convinced. 'I guess we can wipe Loyalty Bay from the list. Where next?'

'Two minutes,' the pilot said. The sound of sirens beyond the fuselage was still going.

'What about Creekside?' Nasty asked suddenly.

Something else retracted into the hull with a loud clang. Alaster felt the vibrations through the decking below his boots. He took a deep breath, not really noticing the now-very-familiar rubber and metal scent of the respirator in his helmet.

'Creekside,' Kodos said. 'Creekside …' He sounded puzzled.

Alaster blinked. Kodos sounded puzzled? Kodos? 'Sergeant?' he asked.

'I've never been there,' Kodos said. 'But it almost reminds me of something.'

Alaster glanced behind him. The Inquisitor was frowning, with her head tilted to one side. 'You've never been there. But has anyone you know?'

'Yeah - me,' Nasty put in. 'That's where I'm from.'

'I have some relatives there,' Alaster said. 'We went there a couple of times. Me and the family. Not often, though. It's a long way from Colvin.'

'Me too,' Patreus said. 'Going there, I mean. Not relatives. Well, I might have some relatives there – who knows?'

'You don't know?' the Inquisitor asked him, looking surprised.

'Patreus is an orphan, apparently,' Kodos said, sounding distracted. 'The DNA test was generically Octalian, so he's definitely from here somewhere. But we couldn't trace any family when we did the security checks.'

'That's a bit weird,' Lady Sharrow said, regarding Patreus with an odd expression.

'Not really,' Patreus said, sounding embarrassed. 'It probably means it I'm the product of someone's affair. They don't always register the birth, you know, when that happens.'

Alaster blinked. He remembered Patreus mentioning being an orphan, some time ago, but it had never occurred to him that the circumstances might be like that. Patreus was, he thought, remarkably up-front about it. But then, Patreus was also almost pathologically honest. Briefly Alaster wondered whether the possibility of scandal in Patreus's unknown family history might partly be related to his own religiosity – did Patreus feel that he had to make amends for someone else's error? Perhaps in addition to his guilt-by-association from the corruption at the monastery? Alaster felt a sense of curiosity but he supposed it might be rather tactless to ask.

Feeling the need to speak, Alaster said, 'It's probably a fair bet. Creekside is one of the bigger cities. Nine million people, I think. That's enough that probably everyone knows someone who knows someone over there.'

Another thought occurred to him. It was weird that there were almost as many people living in one single city on Delta as there were people living on the entirety of Gamma. He remembered the dry desolation of the inner planet, the thinness of the air and the intense heat of the brighter sunlight.

Kodos was frowning intently. His metallic eye glittered in the dim light of the Thunderhawk's interior. 'Creekside,' he said. 'I almost feel like I know it, for some reason. Why is that?' Then he blinked. 'Oh – skak! That's why!'

'What is it?' Lady Sharrow asked.

Kodos nodded, a momentary look of relief on his face. 'I've got it now. Why I feel like I know it.' He looked at Alaster. 'You remember the outpost, on Minoris? On the Hydra?'

Alaster nodded. He did. Briefly, he wondered if there were still any recognisable traces of that location left on Minoris. Given the rivermouth's proximity to the impact event, he supposed that there almost certainly were not.

'Remember that traitor skakker, the one who tried to kill you all? The one you put in a coma?'

Alaster nodded, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He hadn't meant to give the man brain damage – they needed the intelligence that brain held, if it had held any. Unfortunately, as Alaster had discovered that day, there is simply no such thing as a safe tap on the head. The brain is a complicated and sensitive organ, and it needs to be treated with respect. Such gentle treatment is only rarely if ever compatible with violence.

'That skakker,' Kodos said, angrily. 'Well, remember they wheeled him out, just before the end on Minoris? And I ate his brain?'

Alaster and the others nodded.

'Can't imagine it tasted good,' Nasty put in, with his usual lack of sensitivity.

'No,' Kodos agreed. 'Rather oily, as it happened.'

The Inquisitor shuddered, quite in spite of herself.

'Anyway,' Kodos said, 'I've just twigged what it was. That skakker was from Creekside! All this talk about Creekside – it's knocked loose a few of his memories.'

The Inquisitor's disgust vanished. Her face ablaze with curiosity, she leaned forward. Distractedly, she brushed some errant hairs away from her cheeks. 'Go on,' she said.

'I didn't think I was going to get anything,' Kodos said. 'The old omophagea problem, predictably enough. But it looks like a few bits and pieces did get across.'

'What do you see?' she asked.

Kodos frowned, concentrating. 'It's all a bit hazy,' he said. 'But that man was definitely a Creeksider! And I've still got no idea what he was called – doesn't seem that the name came across. Funny that something like that would fall out.' Kodos squinted, drumming his fingers on the armrests of his chair. Somewhere above, the fans whirred quietly in their ducts. 'There was a church – an Originist church. Seems like there was a big nest of them in Creekside. Quite the local infestation.'

'There was,' Nasty agreed. There was an undertone of violence in his voice. Alaster remembered the story that apparently Nasty's girlfriend had been lynched during some sort of Originist-related episode of violence some time before. Nasty added, almost hopefully, 'Now that they're revolting, maybe we could, you know, do something about that?'

'The heretics have always been revolting,' Patreus put it. 'They certainly don't like us. They don't seem to like anyone. I doubt they like bathing much either!'

'Sheep dips,' Alaster suggested. 'Full of disinfectant. Just hold them under for a bit. You know, a bit more than you would a sheep. Till they stop moving, I mean.'

'Hey, I like that idea!' Nasty said brightly.

'Creekside,' Kodos said, still frowning. 'I'm getting something about a man. And a woman. Apparently our heretic knew people there.'

'Anyone in particular?' the Inquisitor asked.

Kodos squinted. 'I think … the woman. She's called something like Jenna or Jane or something.'

'Janessa?' The Inquisitor leaned forward.

'Yes,' Kodos said. 'Yes, that could be it.'

An eyebrow rose. 'Interesting. She is – or was – one of their Council of Hierarchs. If your ex-friend knew her…'

Kodos frowned. 'No, not quite knew her. I think … I think he reported to the man. Toby. Togo. Toryass. Something like that. But I get the impression he in turn reported to the woman.'

'Two links down the chain.' The Inquisitor looked excited. 'And we know the Originists are involved somehow with this heresy. This could be bringing us close!'

'They're associated with a church,' Kodos said. 'I'm getting a vague image of it. It's on a street corner, definitely somewhere in Creekside.'

'Uh, Sergeant,' Nasty said, 'that could be half the churches in Creekside. And there's rather a lot of them.'

'Is there any hint of a name?' the Inquisitor asked.

'It's Saint-Something-Or-Other,' Kodos said. 'I'm having trouble with that. By the Throne, why did the names have to fail? I'd recognise these people if I saw them, I swear, but none of the skakking names are here!'

'Please try,' she said.

'It's something like St Teas, or St Teals, or something weird like that,' Kodos said.

Nasty leaned forward. His safety harness creaked under the load. 'Could it be St Teeleks?' he asked.

Kodos twitched. The pupil in his good eye expanded. 'Yes! Yes, by the Emperor, that's it! Mildly Irritating is actually right about something!'

'We've just witnessed a miracle,' Patreus snarked.

Alaster was surprised to see Nasty ignore Patreus's quip completely. Instead he just started out of the canopy. 'St Teeleks,' he said. 'The mob that killed the Natalya – the ones I scragged – they were all from St Teeleks!'

'Now that,' Alaster said, 'is just a bit of a coincidence. Someone from there goes to Minoris to try to sabotage us. And then kill us.'

'There were Originists,' Patreus said, 'on Gamma, too. At the webway portal. They were trying to get us there as well.'

The Inquisitor turned her gaze on Nasty. 'Battle-Brother,' she said, 'that really is a coincidence. And more of one than I think I can merit. And you're the common feature in all of these attacks. Is there any reason why they might want you dead?'

Nasty sounded surprised. 'Uh, I'm a Space Marine? They want us all killed because they're just dumb skaks like that?'

'But you weren't at the time,' she said. She leaned back in her chair. It creaked. 'Well. How remarkable. Something is definitely going on here.'

'Uh, sorry to interrupt, my lords,' the pilot said, 'but they've started the decompression cycle. Uh, we really need a destination.'

Kodos looked at her. The cabin lights reflected in his metallic eye. 'Creekside Spaceport,' he said. 'We're going to Creekside.'

'If the source of this poison is anywhere,' the Inquisitor said, 'I've got a feeling we're going to find it at St Teelek's.'


	67. Chapter 67 A Shadow of Purpose

When he saw the Thunderhawk land on the tarmac outside, Father Inyre felt a mixture of surprise, relief and perhaps also some fear.

He had spent the last few hours sat in the waiting lounge of Creekside Spaceport Terminal Three, hoping to catch a domestic flight southwards. He wasn't too bothered precisely where, as long as it was headed in the general direction of the Ravenholme. With his credit, money wasn't a problem. There were even still some flights running. The spaceport had its own backup generatoria, so unlike the rest of the city, it wasn't blacked out. As such, it was busy. It was swarming with people. Some of them sought to escape the growing urban chaos. Some of them had come out here in the hope of catching up with the news. Others seemed to be here simply as something to do. The terminal buildings swarmed with milling crowds of people. The air was full of shouting, swearing and frantic gesticulation. An inchoate mass of humanity seethed throughout the place, as if it was seeking to do something. Whatever that something was, even the mass itself seemed none too certain.

Inyre had taken one look at the morass of human beings at the bookings desks and he'd figured he was better off waiting for the chaos to subside. Spaceports tend to be uncomfortable places at the best of times, but this one was exceeding all bounds. As well as generalised desperation, there had even been some fights breaking out.

Inyre was currently sat on a cheap plastic seat up in the commercial concourse. It was relatively quieter up here, although still uncomfortably crowded. Quite a few would-be travellers were camped out here. There were even some tents pitched here and there. The place smelt of sweat, fear and human desperation.

Inyre had bought himself a pot of tea from one of the shops, one that was still open. The staff had served him with an air of polite resignation. The lady behind the counter had kept half an eye on a news broadcast behind Inyre's shoulder.

There was a cheap table in front of Inyre. He had the pot of tea sat on it, along with a mug and a small cup of milk. He sipped at the tea. A curl of steam rose up from the spout of the teapot.

All around him, people chattered, walked, talked and stomped around.

He looked up at the screen. It was one of the big public ones, mounted along the back wall of the large chamber. It showed a confused-looking young woman, a news-station reporter. He had to concentrate to hear what she was saying over the generalised noise.

'…we'll bring you the full details as we get them,' she was saying. 'But there are confused reports of fighting in the southern provinces. We're not quite sure what's going on, and we have conflicting accounts. But apparently there's been fighting as far south as the Ravenholme…'

'So it begins,' Inyre muttered. He remembered Phelonas's crazed ranting, that night when the old priest had nervously hidden himself on that rain-damped balcony. 'So it begins.'

He was feeling a return of that sense of depression. He had knowledge that could be important, but how to pass it on? The situation was clearly getting worse. The news broadcast on the screen had been surprisingly upfront about the deteriorating situation. But then, he supposed, the state censors were probably on strike along with all the other government employees.

He drank some more tea. The brew was strong and bitter, and it was warm enough to be a little uncomfortable. He blew on the surface of it, to try to cool it a little.

He knew what he had to do, but how to get past the human scrum down there?

He felt a vibration under his feet. He realised he was feeling the roar of a descending vessel's thrusters. Moments later, his ears picked up the sound. It built rapidly. The vibration built and as he put his cup back down onto the saucer, he noticed little ripples spreading across its surface.

Out of curiosity, he glanced toward the long window. It looked out over the space field beyond. And that was when he boggled.

There was no mistaking the blunt, snub-nosed form of the descending Thunderhawk. There was also no mistaking the distinctive blue-black colours, or the lightning-bearing raven painted on its side. It descended out of a clear sky toward the thermacrete below. Inyre stared. He watched as the sharp black shadow expanded on the thermacrete, and then stabilised as the vessel touched down. The grumble of the thrusters fell quiet. The vibration running through his feet faded and the surface of the tea settled into stillness.

'What the hell are they doing here?' he asked himself.

His questions didn't slow him down, though. In a momentary flash of clarity, he knew exactly what to do. He got up from his chair and he bolted toward the stairs on the far side of the commercial concourse.

Elsewhere, the squad was disembarking from the Thunderhawk.

'Well,' Patreus said, 'we're back.'

They were. Alaster looked down. For the first time in what seemed like ages, his boots were planted firmly on Octalian soil. It was a sour homecoming, though. He looked up, at the scene of disorganisation that was Creekside's spacefield. The wind moaned across the spacefield, rustling through the occasional piece of debris.

'It's on fire,' Nasty noted. He pointed. 'Not a good sign.'

His finger was aimed at a heap of suitcases and other baggage. For whatever reason, it had simply been abandoned in the middle of the concrete apron. Apparently it had been left too close to a departing vessel's engines. The heap of bags was neatly ablaze.

'It stinks,' Kodos said. 'Welcomed back by the smell of cheap plastic, burning – lovely!'

Alaster was suddenly glad of his respirator. The scent was mercifully filtered, to a mere annoying taint rather than the revolting stink that the raw air doubtless carried.

The Inquisitor curled her nose. 'Yes,' she said. 'It does smell just a bit, doesn't it? Well, I suppose the less time we spend here, the better.'

Kodos nodded. 'The sooner we leave the sooner we can join the fighting at the Ravenholme.' There was a hint of impatience in his voice.

Now that was a good thought. Alaster's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Cracking some heretics' heads was an idea that appealed to him right now. He looked toward the squat grey shapes of the concourse buildings. They'd have to go through there, he assumed.

'The sooner the better,' he heard Sandrer say. 'The sooner we can kill some traitors, the sooner this ends!' The flames atop the mound of burning bags crackled. Dislodged by its own melting, a shapeless lump of plastic fell away from the mound. It landed on the tarmac with a faint thud.

'Probably not, actually,' Lady Sharrow said. She walked a little way forward. She had her hands on her hips and she was surveying the scene around them. 'Heresy is like a boil. Or a disfiguring skin disease. You can deal with the symptoms, but that doesn't necessarily hit the disease itself. That means it will just come back. Maybe next time it'll be worse. That's what we have to do here. Hit the root causes of this. Treat the disease, not just the symptoms.'

Kodos looked like he was about to say something but he never got the chance.

'Hey,' Fegust said, 'there's a man. Running our way!'

Alaster looked. There was, too. From the direction of the concourse buildings, there came an elderly-looking man. He was wearing a battered-looking Guard-style trenchcoat with plain boots and trousers. His hair was completely white. And he was running toward them. The white hair was flapping in the light breeze.

Even as the Space Marines noticed him, the man started waving at them.

'What the…?' Kodos stared. 'Okay, weapons ready. But don't shoot unless I tell you.'

'You think this is an attack, Sergeant?' Patreus asked.

'I don't know what to think,' Kodos said.

The old man was approaching them. Alaster could hear his boots flapping on the concrete now. The man was panting, the exertion clearly tiring him. Alaster could clearly see the man's face now. It was a mess of emotion. Hope seemed to be warring with fear and uncertainty.

The man was saying something. 'Wait!' he was shouting. 'Wait! I have information for you!'

Then his foot caught on something. He tripped up and pitched over. And then, to Alaster's surprise, the man managed to turn his topple into a neat roll. He landed on the hard floor with a thud, but without any sound of anything cracking or breaking and no more apparent discomfort than a grunt.

Kodos gave a quick hand-signal. The marines fanned out, putting the old man at the centre of a widely-spaced arc, with the Thunderhawk's bulk behind them.

The Inquisitor walked forward. 'Who are you?' she said, looking puzzled. 'And what do you want?'

The man looked up at her. He was still breathing hard. 'My lady,' he said, looking puzzled. He seemed unsure who she was or why she was there. 'My name's Inyre. And I have information. About what's going on here. About the Originist Church and what it's involved in.'

Alaster had to hand it to her; Lady Sharrow did an excellent job of not reacting too visibly. Probably the old man noticed nothing, but Alaster definitely saw the slight twitch and her sudden shift of position. She was all ears now. 'Oh really?' she said, sounding very casual and rather disinterested. 'And how would you know anything about that?'

Behind them the burning pile of luggage crackled. A fat spark leapt up with the smoke. The oily black column shivered in the breeze.

The old man said, 'I used to be one of their priests. Technically I still am.' He looked at the Space Marines. 'Please don't shoot me,' he added. 'Or at least if you must, please listen to me first!'

'That roll,' Lady Sharrow mused. 'When you landed. That was rather neatly done. And that coat. That's military issue. You're ex-military, aren't you?'

Father Inyre pulled himself to his feet and performed a perfectly crisp salute. 'Octalian 10th Infantry, ma'am!' he said. 'At your service.'

She lifted an eyebrow. 'And you've picked up that I'm apparently somewhat important. That was quick.'

'With respect, ma'am, the squad of Space Marines lined up behind you sort of the game away,' he said.

Alaster supposed that was a good point. The wind sighed around them.

Lady Sharrow shrugged. 'I suppose. But, given what the Originists currently seem to be doing, why shouldn't we just shoot you? Perhaps you're just here to delay us.'

The old man winced but he showed surprisingly little fear. He looked straight back at her. 'They're being led by a woman called Janessa,' he said. 'Except she's been – I don't know, possessed or puppeted or something. I don't know precisely how it works, but she's being controlled by a Traitor Space Marine. He's called Phelonas, and he's somewhere on this planet. And he's been pulling the strings of pretty much everything here for months.'

'Phelonas?' The Inquisitor blinked. 'Here?'

'Your Ladyship,' Kodos said, 'is that a known name? As it were?'

She nodded, looking sober. To Inyre, she said, 'One thing, priest. What does this traitor look like?'

'Big and scary,' Inyre said. 'Heavily-decorated armour. Silver edging, blue plates, blasphemous runes, that sort of thing. Lots of spikes. Horns on the helmet. Skulls on the backpack. He's got a bolter and some sort of tainted blade. The pommel has a demonic head carved on it. The eyes are red and seem to glow – maybe they do! Glow, I mean. I wouldn't rule it out. Nothing is too weird, given what he's like. He talks a lot, and he seems to like the sound of his own voice. Oh, and one of the shoulder-pads has a Chaos star on it. The other has a three-snake design.'

Talking too much. That, Alaster noted, was a common problem.

'A star of Chaos,' the Inquisitor remarked. 'You seem to be knowledgeable about this.' The fire crackled. It was reflecting in her pupils, little dancing specks of reddish light. Her face was expressionless but her eyes hinted at menace.

The priest shrugged. 'Ma'am, I fought the Word Bearers on Jenneko. I'd have preferred to know less about them. But that choice wasn't mine to make.'

She blinked. 'Jenneko -? And you're still alive?' For a moment, just for an instant, she looked impressed.

A shadow passed across the man's face. 'Yes, and a lot of my comrades aren't.'

'One more thing,' she said, looking intent. 'This Chaos Marine. You've seen his face, haven't you? What colour is his scar?' The wind pushed a loose scrap of paper past. It flopped and flapped across the ground, making a faint rustling noise.

Inyre looked puzzled. 'Uh, sorry ma'am, but I don't know. I've never seen his face. He's always wearing that helmet.'

She nodded, as if satisfied by something. 'Okay. You're telling the truth.' To the Space Marines, she explained, 'This Phelonas is a known name. The Inquisition has wanted his head for quite a long time. But we have absolutely no idea what he looks like – he never takes that helmet off, at least in public, anyway. I guess he doesn't fancy being shot in the face. A pity, because there are a lot of people who'd like to.'

'Wonderful,' Kodos sighed. 'A smart Chaos Marine. Just what we need.'

'Well he certainly thinks he's quite something,' she agreed. 'In some ways he seems to be a heretic even relative to other heretics. Apparently has some very unorthodox opinions about the nature of Chaos. And to make it worse, he keeps insisting on writing books about them. And he keeps leaving them around where impressionable people can find them!'

'Oh great,' Nasty said. 'A litter-dropping Traitor.'

'I don't specialise in hunting Traitors,' Lady Sharrow said, 'but there's been an all-points alert on this bastard for a long time.'

In the middle-distance, a baggage cart drove past. It was carrying no baggage and lurching drunkenly from side-to-side. Alaster watched it go. He got the impression its driver was off on some daft alcohol-fuelled joyride. The whine of the electric motor faded into the distance as it wobbled away into the distance.

'How much of a problem is this Phelonas person?' Kodos asked.

'He's a proper vintage monstrosity,' Lady Sharrow said. The burning baggage-mound crackled and spat. 'Heresy-era vintage, I mean. Practically a walking museum-piece.'

What she meant wasn't lost on any of the Space Marines. To still be alive after all that time, this Phelonas had to genuinely be quite dangerous.

The Inquisitor looked at Inyre. 'And you know what he's doing?' she said.

Inyre nodded. 'He's trying to destroy the Storm Ravens. And this planet too, if possible.'

'I think we need to talk some more about this,' Lady Sharrow said. 'But I think we need to do it inside. A public place like this is hardly the best place to discuss such treason.'

The unlikely group went back inside the Thunderhawk, with Inyre in tow.

A few minutes later, Lady Sharrow met with Kodos in one of the compartments. Like the rest of the interior, it was a Spartan and metallic space. Striplights gleamed harshly down from overhead, shining onto the floor and a plain metal bench. The only decoration in the small chamber was a black Imperial aquila, stencilled onto the wall opposite the bench.

Lady Sharrow and Kodos stood in the small space, their shadows black against the floor, cast starkly below them by the glaring lights overhead. The small space was filled with the quiet murmur of the ventilation system, and the faint rumble of the Thunderhawk's engines as they idled.

Lady Sharrow took a breath. 'We have to check this out,' she said.

Kodos looked impatient. 'My lady,' he said, 'I don't mean to sound impertinent-'

'-But?' she finished for him, lifting an eyebrow. 'I'm sensing that you don't wholly approve, Brother-Sergeant.'

'There's a battle that needs fighting,' Kodos said bluntly. 'That's what we're good at. That's what we're for. And that's what we'd be better off doing. And anyway, wouldn't this super-heretic or whatever he is be down there, at the Ravenholme, with the rest of them?'

Lady Sharrow shook her head. 'No. Phelonas is more of a manipulator than a fighter. Prefers to get others to do the dirty work for him. And he's good at it – we know that much! If he's there personally, then it means things are dire indeed.'

'You think he's here?' Kodos asked.

'Let's just say I think it's possible,' she said. 'And believe me – you wouldn't want to leave Phelonas behind you! Give him a few days and you'll have another army on your tail.'

Kodos looked sceptical. 'He can do that?'

'Rule nothing out,' she said, 'particularly when you're dealing with old traitors. Remember, this monster is thousands of years old. He's detestable, but he's good at what he does. Which is all the worse, given what he does.'

Somewhere in the vessel, something made a clunk-sound. The noise echoed into the small chamber.

'One Chaos Marine,' Kodos said, 'can't be that dangerous, surely? I mean, one-on-one, yes, but a squad of us should be able to take him.'

Lady Sharrow looked serious. 'Be careful about assumptions, Brother-Sergeant,' she said. 'It's not just him you'd be facing. That sword the priest mentioned? It seems to be some sort of daemon-blade. He seems to use it as a sort of amplifier for his own Warpcraft. And he's definitely not above summoning inhuman help, if you know what I mean.'

Kodos looked thoughtful. 'A daemon blade. Do you know, this will be the first time I've ever faced one of them?'

She blinked. 'Really? So you have no experience of daemonic activity? That could be a problem.'

Kodos looked annoyed. The ventilation fans whirred in the background. 'I have fought daemons. There was that business on the Moon-' Then he stopped, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

The Inquisitor lifted an eyebrow. '_The_ Moon? Yours, you mean?'

Kodos grimaced.

'This is news to me,' the Inquisitor said. 'A daemonic event? On Delta's moon?'

Kodos looked pained. 'Your ladyship, forget I said that-'

She sighed. 'A bit late for that, I'm afraid. I'm supposing this is on of those obligatory secrets you marines insist on, isn't it? What a pity. I'd thought the Ravens were better than that.'

Kodos looked annoyed with himself and also annoyed with her. 'We dealt with it,' he said bluntly. 'We didn't need help.'

'Maybe you did,' she said. 'You know what I think? I think you'd better fill me in on this event on the Moon. It might just be important.'

'It was a few years ago,' Kodos said. 'The second-biggest of the dome-arcologies on the Moon. For some months, people had been going missing. The numbers crept up. The local police tried to investigate – and their team's heads got sent back.'

'Subtle,' she said. The fans whirred.

'That was when we got involved,' Kodos said. 'There was one of these small cults that springs up sometimes. Centred on a rogue psyker. I guess he'd been hearing voices, or something. There weren't many of them, but we sent in a couple of squads anyway.'

She nodded. 'There's no such thing as overkill when rogue psykers are concerned. Carry on.'

'The battle?' Kodos shrugged. 'It was a more of a curbstomp, really. The only really dangerous one was the psyker. We cleaned their clocked pretty nicely.'

'And the daemonic event?' she asked.

'About halfway through, when it was clear we were winning,' Kodos said, 'the psyker started performing some sort of ritual. And it looked like something was happening. Things started appearing. Shadowy forms, all ripply like they were underwater or something. They were getting solider, but they never completely got there. One of our brothers got a headshot on the psyker. They all flickered out when he popped.'

'What did they look like?' Lady Sharrow asked, eyes focused intently on Kodos.

'We never really got a good view,' Kodos said. 'The forms weren't distinct, just like mist, if that makes any sense. The outlines that they had seemed to change from one minute to the next.'

The fans growled in the background. Lady Sharrow nodded slowly. 'And after the psyker died – this all stopped?'

Kodos nodded. 'Yes. It looked like it was dealt with.'

'I wonder,' Lady Sharrow mused. 'Sending the police team's heads back like that … that's not the sort of behaviour conducive to survival.'

'No,' Kodos agreed proudly, 'it wasn't.'

'But was it perhaps it wasn't just stupidity,' she mused. 'If someone needed a sacrifice, perhaps … If they had come under some outside influence, a voice in their heads like you suggested…' She stared off into the distance. Her amrs were crossed and she was drumming her fingers.

'But why?' Kodos asked.

'Warpcraft often needs sacrifices,' she mused. 'A tasty snack or two, perhaps to entice the entities that perform the working. And bigger Warpcrafts require greater sacrifice. Transporting oneself across interstellar distances would certainly be a significant working.'

Kodos blinked, unconsciously rubbing his trigger-finger against the grip of his plasma pistol. The unsteady light played over the cooling vents, along with a slight heathaze. 'You're suggesting that's how this Phelonas got here?'

She nodded. 'I doubt somehow that he walked past Customs, don't you agree? I can't quite somehow see a Traitor Marine taking the 14.45 shuttle-service from Lunarberg, you know?'

'That is a ludicrous mental image,' Kodos reluctantly agreed.

'And he had to get here somehow,' she said. 'The last we heard of him, he was nowhere near this planet.'

'Nowhere near?'

'Halfway round the galactic disk,' she said. 'Last known whereabouts, I mean.'

Kodos blinked again. 'Just a small change of scene,' he observed.

'Quite,' she said.

'So our meeting this priest was really a piece of luck,' Kodos said.

She frowned. 'Maybe not.'

'Maybe not?'

'It wouldn't surprise me if he's actually a trap,' she said.

'A trap?'

'It would be the sort of thing that Phelonas would do,' she said. 'Plant a few leads somewhere else, to distract us from the action.'

'Then you agree!' Kodos said triumphantly. 'We have to go to the Ravenholme now! We can follow this up later. When we're done fighting.'

She sighed. 'You're very single-minded, aren't you, Brother-Sergeant? But for the record, no we can't.'

'But we've followed Captain Lakon's orders,' Kodos said. 'We've got the basics on what's going on here.'

'No,' she said. 'I don't think we have. Or at least, not wholly. And what we don't know could prove critical.'

'What do you mean?'

'Do you believe in coincidences, Brother-Sergeant? I don't. And isn't it a coincidence that we just happen to land at exactly the right time and the right place to meet this priest?'

Kodos frowned. 'But we covered this on the _Wrath_ earlier. We have good reason to be here. There wasn't really anywhere else to go. And as for the priest, well, he lives here.' Kodos shrugged. 'Where else would he be? And he says he has a message for us. So the spaceport would be a logical place to go, if you were needing to travel. It doesn't really sound coincidental, really.' But he sounded just a little uncertain.

Lady Sharrow tapped her foot on the floor. The sound echoed in the small space. 'I don't buy it,' she said. 'There's still too much wiggle-room. What if he'd gone to the loo at the wrong moment? What if he'd gone to one of the other terminals, where you can't see where we landed? What if he'd been napping? I mean, he is fairly old, you know. No, I can see two possibilities.'

Kodos nodded. 'Go on,' he said.

'Possibility one - this man is a plant,' she said, 'left by Phelonas to throw us off the trail. But that's weird. After all, there aren't many of us here. One squad, a Thunderhawk, a Tech-Priest, and me. Hardly a planet-shaking force. Unless the plan was to divert the main body of troops – but they're already on their way to the Ravenholme, so it's too late for that.'

'The traitor might not have known we'd do that,' Kodos said.

'What, Space Marines not deep-striking into the heart of the battle?' She looked amused. 'That's an unlikely notion, Brother-Sergeant.'

Kodos twitched. 'I suppose you're right,' he admitted. 'We always were going to hit the Ravenholme in force, weren't we?'

'Yes. And it's good odds that Phelonas will have known that. Don't forget – I know this a repugnant fact, and not something you want to hear, and believe me I understand! The idea is repellent! But don't forget, Phelonas was a Space Marine once too. He knows how you think. He'll have more than an idea or two how you'd react to a big fight on your homeworld.' Again she tapped her foot on the floor for emphasis.

Kodos looked nauseated. 'Thinking that a traitor has any connection to us-!' For a moment he looked like he was going to choke. 'But I suppose it's true, isn't it? The original sin of the Adeptus Astartes.' He conceded the unpleasant reality with visible reluctance.

She nodded. 'In fact, most Chapters probably wouldn't send anyone to look into the background of all this. Concentrate all their force on the one place they think it's needed, and all that.'

'That would make the priest unlikely to be a patsy,' Kodos said.

'But,' she said, 'Phelonas is known for wheels within wheels within wheels-type scheming. It wouldn't be beyond imagining that he might put a backup in place in case of unexpected events. Like us going here first. So I can't absolutely rule it out.'

'What's the other possibility?' Kodos asked.

'The other possibility,' she said, 'is something even weirder.'

'Really? That's possible?'

'I can't shake the feeling,' she said, 'that someone's gone to a lot of effort to show us this. The chain of events that's led us here – it's a thin chain! There are so many links and if any of them were missing, we'd be somewhere else. Really, right now, we should still be fighting a failing rearguard action on Minoris. But the hive ship intervened to stop that. Inyre should be with his flock-'

'Attacking the Ravenholme,' Kodos growled.

'-but something seems to have led him away from his church and its heresies. Led him here. Also, don't you think it's weird that your squad seems to be tangled up in all this?'

'Is it?'

'Nasty,' she said, 'appears to have a personal connection to all of this.'

Kodos blinked. 'I suppose so. His girlfriend!'

'Yes,' she said. 'Who was apparently killed by a mob from St Teeleks. Then of course there was the Originist attack on your cadets on Gamma. And the Originist attack on them at that outpost. It's almost as if something is trying to bring your attention back here.'

Kodos stared. 'What do you mean?'

She nodded slowly. 'It sounds fantastic,' she said, 'but I'm genuinely wondering … genuinely wondering, for the first time in my life … if perhaps the Emperor wants us here? Is there perhaps something we're meant to do here? Or something we're meant to see?'

Kodos was staring. 'My lady, that's a very strange idea. And the deaths at Minoris – all the millions of them! – seemed pretty senseless to me.'

'But there's a major war on here now,' she said. 'A war that threatens a Chapter of the Astartes. You punch hugely above your weight, even as that is. Everyone knows that. Losing a Chapter could be a major blow to the Imperium.'

'Losing a Chapter?' Kodos stared. 'You think we're going to _lose_ here?'

'The heretics wouldn't move this openly,' the Inquisitor said, 'if they didn't think they could win. Do we know – for a fact? – that they're wrong? Given that they've already got into your planet's defence grid, and they've already partly subverted it?' She leaned forward. 'Maybe,' she said, 'there's something here that we're supposed to do – something that will put a spanner in their works! Maybe for some reason it has to be us – who knows why? Don't ask me, but it's not beyond imagining. As for Minoris, well, horrific as that was, from a certain point of view, losing one planet might be worth it to save a Chapter. And a particularly poor and useless planet, as well. When you think of all the other worlds your Chapter will likely save, in the future …' She shrugged. 'The cost-stroke-benefit could well come up positive on that.'

'But – intervention by the Emperor? Surely we can't be that important?'

'I'm not necessarily suggesting that we are,' she said. 'I doubt any of us are more than pawns in the grander plan, whatever it might be. But every chess board needs it pawns, you know. And if there is any possibility – any at all! – that we've been sent here for a reason, then I think we have to follow it up, don't we?'


	68. Chapter 68 The Stakes Rise

Alaster watched the interrogation. He was stood over the strange scene with chainsword and bolt pistol, along with the other Space Marines.

'He was called Tobias,' Inyre was saying.

'The traitor's contact?' the Inquisitor asked, looking intent. They were sat in the Thunderhawk's main troop-bay. The former priest was perched awkwardly on a marine-sized seat. The Inquisitor was sat on the row directly opposite Inyre. For all that her feet didn't quite reach the metal-grill decking, she still managed to project a sense of power and authority. Harsh lights glared down from overhead and the metallic space echoed with the intermittent sounds of the Thunderhawk's machinery.

'Yes,' the priest said.

Alaster listened carefully. Maybe they would finally get some clear answers about whatever had been going on here. The only people not present were Magos Kelso and the pilot – they were in the engineering compartment, having a look at a pump that had been giving some slightly odd readings just before landing.

Kodos was with the interrogation. He was stood closest to Inyre, plasma pistol to hand. The flicker of light along the cooling vents played across the side of Inyre's head and was reflected in his eyes. Kodos wasn't wearing his helmet and he also wasn't missing an opportunity to glare at Inyre. His disapproval of the Originist heresy was on very public display.

Overhead, the ventilation fans whirred quietly behind their gratings.

Rather surprisingly, Inyre was completely ignoring the massive Space Marine stood just to his left. With some reluctance, Alaster had to acknowledge that apparently the priest did apparently enjoy some measure of bravery, whatever his other faults. Or possibly the man was just completely focused on the questioning. It wasn't every day that one might find oneself personally quizzed by an Inquisitor, Alaster supposed, and that was bound to be something that would catch one's attention. Perhaps even a glaring Space Marine paled into insiginificance next to that?

'Tobias,' Father Inyre continued, 'kept Phelonas in the cellar. Under St Teeleks. Or perhaps Phelonas let Tobias think he was keeping him in the cellar. Frankly, I'm no longer sure.'

Under the decking, there was a nest of pipes. Alaster could see them through the metal grill. Presumably they all played roles in the functioning of the Thunderhawk. He noted the light reflecting off of the dull metal.

'Did this Tobias ever see what he had down there?' the Inquisitor was asking.

'Not as far as I know,' Inyre said. 'The cellar – it was always badly-lit. We kept meaning to get more bulbs put in. But before Phelonas, we didn't use the place much. Except for one thing. So we never got round to it.'

'What was the one thing?' she asked.

'The gun-running,' he said.

Alaster noticed that Nasty suddenly stood a bit straighter and turned toward the tableau in front of them. Alaster caught two miniature versions of the scene, reflecting in Nasty's eyelenses. For some reason, the lightning-carrying raven on Nasty's shoulder looked particularly angry today. Its single red eye seemed to burn.

'Guns?' the Inquisitor asked.

'The ones that I'm guessing they're using, down south,' he said. 'That is the Originists, isn't it?'

'You know about that?'

'There was a mention of it on the news,' he said. 'I supposed the censors are on strike too.'

The Inquisitor nodded. 'Possible,' she agreed.

One of the pipes below the decking chose that moment to make a _chug-chug-chug_ noise. Alaster felt it vibration through his bootheels. Inyre twitched in surprise at the sound. The man looked calm but clearly he was tenser than he appeared.

'We had a gun-running operation,' he continued. 'You understand this isn't really anything new. The Church has been planning an uprising for years.'

'And you didn't tell anyone,' Lady Sharrow remarked, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Inyre shrugged. 'My lady, I believed it all back then. No offence to present company-' he glanced at the Space Marines, once more showing remarkably little nervousness toward them, at least '-but I genuinely considered marines mutants. Particularly dangerous, heavily-armed ones, at that.'

Alaster felt as much as heard the low growl at the back of his throat. This was dangerously close to fighting talk. For a moment, his mind flashed back to the Originists they'd encountered in that street back on Minoris. He remembered the one-sided fight that had followed. It had certainly been necessary – the Originists had started it, and Space Marines just weren't going to walk away from a fight – but Alaster hadn't then and still didn't feel any sense of pride in the slaughter that had followed.

He tried to still his righteous anger.

Then something occurred to him; Inyre's behaviour was somewhat odd. He seemed remarkably at ease around the Space Marines, given his previous affiliation, but Alaster detected a sense that he was more nervous of the Inquisitor. Idly, Alaster wondered why that might be. On the face of it, surely the Astartes should be the more-obvious immediate threat?

The moment or two of idle speculation did much to cool his temper. However, it didn't appear that everyone felt equal equanimity.

'Some of the present company,' Kodos growled, 'can't say that we take kindly to being called mutants.'

To Alaster surprise, Inyre didn't quail. Instead he looked straight up at the sergeant, doing the best the priest could to look the Storm Raven in the eye. 'No,' Inyre said. 'I'm sure you don't. But like it or not, that's what Originists think. And that's why we – they, I mean – are doing what they're doing.'

'Delusional as it is,' Lady Sharrow said, 'within a certain twisted context, their actions do make sense. Carry on.'

Kodos fell quiet but carried on glaring at Inyre.

Inyre nodded, looking back at her. 'We'd infiltrated certain weapons factories, Snook a few of our people onto the staff. They were doing quality-control stuff. Rejecting a certain number of bolt-weapons, ones that were actually fine. And then sneaking them out of the disposal piles before they were removed. So they were finding our way into our arsenal – only because they were listed as destroyed rejects, no-one was any wiser.'

The Inquisitor nodded. 'Okay. And this scheme – how did it go?'

Nasty, Alaster noted, had moved slightly closer.

'Mostly okay,' the priest said. 'But we did have one big hiccup, near my parish.'

'Go on.'

'There was some girl. Seemed quite young, not more than sixteen. Blond hair, I remember. She posed as one of the faithful, joined the congregation…'

'Not called Natalya?' Nasty interrupted. 'About five foot six, green eyes?'

Inyre blinked. 'Yes. Yes, that's her. You, err, knew her?' He was clearly surprised by the interruption.

Nasty growled. 'She was,' and he emphasised the _was_, 'my girlfriend. Until you skaks killed her.'

The pipe chose that moment to _chug_ again.

Inyre stared. 'She-? But- That means you're the one! That kid who killed a dozen of ours!'

'The very same,' Nasty said. 'What do you think got me into the Ravens? And you know what, I'd do it all again.'

'You'll probably get your chance soon,' Alaster said, breaking his silence.

Inyre still looked astonished. He paid Alaster's remark no attention. Nor did Nasty. Inyre said, 'You knew Natalya? But she .. she … Tobias said she was a psyker!'

'And just how,' the Inquisitor said, 'did Tobias know that?'

'I – uh – I don't know!'

'Was Tobias a psyker himself?'

'Well no, no he wasn't!'

'Then why were you so quick to believe him? How could he actually know?'

Inyre said nothing, but looked troubled.

'Phelonas?' Kodos asked Lady Sharrow.

She nodded. 'I can't prove it, but it'd fit. He could very likely sense the presence of other psykers. And if he was in the basement, under the congregation…' She exhaled slowly. 'So this Natalya. In between making Nasty's day, she was poking around the gun-running, was she? And you didn't think there was anything ... unusual about that?'

Inyre frowned. 'I don't understand,' he said.

'No, you wouldn't,' Lady Sharrow agreed. 'For the record, I suspect this Natalya may have been more than she seemed. Nasty, she actually was a psyker, I take it?'

Nasty nodded. 'A telepath. But she never hurt anyone. I was with her six months. I'd've seen if she did.'

'Never hurt anyone,' Lady Sharrow mused. 'Well, isn't that interesting. Of course, we all know that stable psykers are very much in the minority. Least of all raw ones, out here in the wild and all untrained. The Warp isn't a healthy place and nor is its influence. Without strength and focus, its voices will quickly make the unprepared mad.'

Alaster was once more very glad of his helmet. With his face covered, it wasn't obvious that he was struggling not to look at Patreus. Nasty, he knew, would be feeling exactly the same. Deception didn't come easily to Space Marines.

For his part, Patreus didn't appear to react. He just stood there, watching the scene play out. He was the furthest back from the group, toward the closed main doors of the compartment. He was stood half in shadow; the illumination fell somewhat short of the edges of the compartment.

'So,' Lady Sharrow mused, 'it does seem rather odd that this Natalya was apparently immune to the perils of the Warp.'

'What are you suggesting?' Nasty said. His voice grated. He didn't sound too happy, Alaster thought.

'Battle-Brother, I'm sorry to break this to you, but I suspect your girlfriend wasn't all she seemed. In fact, I'm guessing that Natalya wasn't her name. I'm also guessing that she was actually rather older than sixteen. In fact, I suspect that she was some sort of Imperial agent.'

The pipe _chug-chug-chug_ged again. Nasty staggered almost as if he'd been shot. His boots clanked on the decking as he stepped backward. 'An Imperial-?' He sounded astonished.

Lady Sharrow shrugged. 'I can't prove it, but it fits, doesn't it?' To Inyre, she said, 'Your gun-running scheme. It sounds well-planned, but people would have noticed something. If only that several factories had a higher-than-average quality control rejection rate. They'd want to know why that was. Maybe also that not enough metal-mass was reaching the recycling centres, too. No-one would want to rock the boat, but I imagine just a bit of quiet sniffing around might start to happen. Maybe that was the real reason why Phelonas-and-Tobias moved against her – they got a whiff or two of what she was up to! The psyker thing sounds suspiciously like a convenient cover. For them to off her. I mean, no-one at the church noticed anything for months, until it became useful. Suspicious timing, just a little?'

Inyre looked worried. 'That could be true,' he conceded.

'So, going back a bit … You were keeping the guns in the same cellar as the traitor?'

'Uh, no! Just before Phelonas was to move in, we shifted our cache up to a room behind the vestry. From then on it was just Phelonas's lair. We had to put a lot of expensive comms gear in there. And then we weren't allowed to go down there. We were told that Phelonas was a mutant, so we wouldn't want to see him.'

Kodos said, 'Okay, I'm calling hypocrisy there. You detest us as mutants, but you keep mutants under your churches!'

'Actually,' Inyre said, 'Tobias told us that Phelonas had been mutated. By yourselves. That it was your doing. He implied it was a botched geneseeding.' Inyre shuddered at that word. Clearly he wasn't quite past all of the dregs of his earlier revulsion.

'No,' Kodos said flatly. 'For the record, we euthanize those. We don't leave them running – or flopping – around. That would just be bad for everyone. Unfortunate victim included.'

Inyre shuddered again. One of the pipes below the decking groaned loudly.

'Okay,' Lady Sharrow said, 'so you had the traitor in the basement. You couldn't really see him because it was badly-lit down there. What was your role in all this?'

'I had to leave food for it,' Inyre said. 'There was this wicker basket. It had to be filled up, and left at the top of the stairs to the cellar. Once a day, every day. I'd come back an hour later, and the basket would be there. Empty.'

Lady Sharrow looked questioningly at Kodos.

The Space Marine shrugged. The lights gleamed on the golden eagle across his chest. 'Marines do eat,' he said. 'Every now and then. Presumably this traitor has to as well.'

Satisfied, she looked back to Inyre. 'But you have seen Phelonas,' Lady Sharrow said.

He nodded. 'That was later, though. After he abandoned the cellar. And after Tobias – well, after Tobias disappeared. But it was before then that I – I went into the cellar.'

Now something changed. Inyre's composure suddenly reduced. He seemed to withdraw into himself. Alaster was oddly put in mind of water in a drying streambed, sinking into the ground. The man drew his arms in, hugging them toward his chest. He didn't seem to notice that he was doing it. The gesture made him seem smaller somehow, as if the contraction was physical as well as emotional. A shadow of old fear was in his eyes. Inyre hugged himself, shivering a little. He said, 'I found the door ajar one day. When I had my basket. So I went in and had a look. And – there was just enough light. I saw it.'

From somewhere in the plumbing beneath their feet, there was a noisy _clunk_. Once more, Alaster felt the vibrations through his boots.

'Saw what?' the Inquisitor asked.

'An altar,' he said. 'It would have been directly underneath the main one, upstairs. As if it had just been put there to mock us. And it was marked with the Star – the Star of Chaos! That's what caught my eye. The metal was gleaming, in the weak light. I think normally he kept it covered under a cloth or something, but maybe it had fallen off.'

He shivered again, looking haggard. His trenchcoat, Alaster noted, was a washed-out grey in the stark overhead light of the Thunderhawk's interior.

'What did you do when you saw this?' Lady Sharrow asked.

Inyre looked around the room, taking in the silent and heavily-armed shapes of the Space Marines. The priest swallowed. 'Frankly, I panicked,' he said. 'It – seeing that, it, I ...' He shook his head, as if to clear it. Alaster noted he was breathing faster than before. 'It was like I was there again.'

'Where?' Lady Sharrow asked.

'Jenneko,' he said. He swallowed. The sound was surprisingly loud in the enclosed space.

She nodded. 'I'm supposing that you had a flashback, yes? Triggered by the altar? To something that happened there? For a moment or two, you felt like you were back there? All the images and sounds, bubbling up in your brain, and you couldn't make them stop?'

He nodded. 'It was to when…' He trailed off for a moment.

'When?' Lady Sharrow prompted. Behind them, the air ventilation carried on its quiet, steady hum. Alaster breathed in, idly half-noticing the familiar smell of his respirator-mask.

'The Word Bearers. On Jenneko. They captured a few of our comrades, once. They had us pinned down in a foxhole. And they set up an altar, right where we could see it. And they … and they…' Inyre made a choking noise and started shaking. He hugged himself tighter. Water glinted in his eyes. His body was twitching from side to side.

'Okay,' Lady Sharrow said, moving quickly to arrest the incipient flashback. 'I think we can take a few guesses. No need to revisit the full horror.'

The she dug into a pocket on her coat. Alaster heard an oddly-familiar sloshing noise. He wondered what it was. Then she withdrew her hand, and she was holding something happened that sent a spike of alarm through Alaster's gut.

Clutched in her hand was a small, silvery flask.

'Here,' she said, 'have a shot of this. It'll help. Believe me!'

She handed it to Inyre. He took it with a shaky hand. The cap made a quiet squeaking as he unscrewed it. The contents sloshed again. As the cap opened and Inyre removed it, a potent scent of alcohol wafted into the air of the compartment.

Alaster stared at the flask. Now where in the name of the Emperor had the Inquisitor got that from? Weren't they supposed to be keeping her away from this stuff? He knew all of the other marines were staring too, Kodos included. The sergeant looked appalled – and no wonder! They'd thought this was one problem dealt with!

'Medicinal, of course,' Lady Sharrow said to Inyre.

Was that an attempt at a _joke_? Alaster boggled. The inappropriateness was staggering.

Inyre drunk from the flask. Its contents _glug-glug-glug_ed as he consumed a portion of them. Then he lowered the flask with a sigh. 'Do you know,' he said weakly, 'that was nicer, I think, than Rock Bottom?' Mechanically, he screwed the cap back on. It squeaked as it turned. Then he handed the flask back to her.

She pocketed it with a final quiet slosh from inside.

'I assume Rock Bottom is a local drink?' the Inquisitor said. Her voice was level but Alaster became aware of that tick above her eyebrow, present once more.

Inyre nodded weakly, a look of gratitude on his lined face. 'Yes, it is.' He seemed not to notice the subtle but frightening change in her manner.

Alaster was also struck by the recent change in the priest's own demeanour. It was quite the contrast. A couple of minutres ago, this man had been remarkably calm and composed, even in the face of an angry Space Marine. Not many people would be able to stare back at Kodos's truculent glare, without quailing, but Inyre had. But then this, this unpleasant recollection, it had all but unmanned the former priest.

Whatever he had seen on that damnable planet, it must have been horrific. And if that was the only encounter the man had ever had with any sort of Space Marine, then no wonder he had taken to such extreme views …

For a moment, Alaster was staggered to realise that he had almost done it again. Almost made the cardinal error of trying to empathise with the enemy. He felt a burst of shame, wondering what sort of a wretched excuse for a Space Marine he was. He recalled his similar error of thought back on Minoris and was once more glad of his helmet- he could feel an angry, embarrassed flush working its way up his neck.

The priest was speaking again; Alaster focused back in. A faint aroma of alcohol lingered in the air.

'Anyway,' Inyre said, having composed himself somewhat, 'the altar I saw in Phelonas's den – it reminded me a lot of those! So I panicked, and I ran. I didn't go back there again.'

She nodded. 'That's certainly understandable. But what of this Tobias? You said he disappeared?'

Inyre nodded. 'It was when the Church was banned, for a while.'

'If only they'd stayed banned,' Kodos said, sounding sour. His eyes, however, were troubled. Alaster noticed he kept glancing in the direction of Lady Sharrow's coat, as it expecting to see that ominous little flask reappear again. He was no longer merely glaring at Inyre. A different source of concern had intruded.

The pipes quietly rumbled under foot once more. Above, fans whirred. Momentarily, some tiny droplet of moisture in the air encountered Kodos's plasma pistol. It hissed quietly against the vents as it boiled. No-one but the Space Marines heard its demise.

The priest said, 'The Hierarchs ordered all the arms caches hidden. The police were coming to arrest everyone. It wouldn't do to have those found.'

'No,' Kodos said. 'Because you'd all certainly be shot if they were.'

Inyre winced but didn't dispute the accuracy of the remark. 'Yes,' he said, 'I suppose so. Anyway, the caches were all emptied. I'd been gone by then, but I came back that day. I saw it happening. I found out later that was the last day anyone saw Tobias.'

'He hasn't been seen since?' Lady Sharrow asked.

Inyre shook his head. 'No. No-one's seen him. Anywhere.'

'Where could he have gone?'

'I think,' Inyre said, 'although I'll admit I'm not wholly sure, that he had some sort of bolthole somewhere in Creekside. He got drunk a couple of times, while visiting St Teeleks. And he rambled while he was like that. I sort of got the impression from what he was saying that he had a back-up plan.'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Okay, so no sightings in many months. We probably can assume he's dead, then. But what about the traitor? What did he do next?'

'Hierarch Janessa was arrested in the purge,' Inyre said, 'but Phelonas sprang her from the prison. Only when he did so, he injured her somehow. Bruising all over the skin, lung damage – like she'd been in space!'

Lady Sharrow lifted an eyebrow. 'Oh – well that's an interesting data-point, isn't it?'

'What is?' Kodos asked.

'This traitor,' she said, 'seems to have some sort of ability to teleport himself. Or something. Walls don't reliably keep him out. I wonder if he tried that with Janessa?'

'Yes,' Inyre said suddenly, an excited gleam in his eyes. He leaned forward. 'That's what he said! I remember it now! When they were ranting at each other! He said she had decompression sickness.'

'It would fit,' Lady Sharrow said. 'When he teleports himself, or wherever it is he goes – I don't suppose he teleports the local atmosphere with him, does he? Now, you said they were ranting. Who was ranting? When and where?'

'I went back,' Inyre said, 'when I heard Janessa was alive. I – I knew her man had fallen in with something sick. But thing is, I thought she might not be complicit. Tobias always was a schemer. He attached himself to Janessa because he thought she was good for his career. Not out of any loyalty, any true loyalty! So I went to talk to her – beg her! – to desist from this folly!'

'You're very loyal to this Janessa,' remarked Lady Sharrow.

The manic energy faded a little from Inyre's face. He leaned back. His coat rustled around him as he shifted his weight. 'When I left the Guard,' he said, 'when I was demobbed – I was a mess. A mess! I know I staggered around for ages – days! – with barely any idea where I was. Or even who I was! I ended up at her mission – she wasn't a Hierarch then, just a parish priestess. But she took time for me. Looked out for me, along with all the others there. Helped me back. Helped me find myself again. If it weren't for her, I doubt I'd be alive now.'

'Okay,' Lady Sharrow said. 'Sounds like some sort of post-traumatic fugue state, then. Hardly a surprise, I suppose. And she nursed you through it, so of course you're very loyal to her.'

He nodded. 'Yes, your ladyship. Anyway, I went to talk to her. But when I got there – it was like she wasn't there! No, worse then that. When she talked, I wasn't hearing her. It was like she'd become him. It was like his taint had just rotted right through her. Cored her out, like an apple.' He shuddered.

'Chaos can do that,' the Inquisitor observed. 'It's hardly a toy.'

'I visited there twice,' he said. 'The first time, I wasn't suspected. I think. The second time, the traitor actually caught me.'

An eyebrow rose on Lady Sharrow's face. 'You look remarkably alive, then,' she said. She shifted herself on the seat. Her coat rustled.

Inyre shrugged. 'Believe me or not – your choice! Anyway, I've fought Chaos Marines before. I knew what to do.' A moment of humour glinted in his eyes. 'Turns out the evil skakkers aren't wholly-immune to furniture.'

Alaster frowned. Furniture? What the skak?

'Anyway,' he said, 'while I was there I overheard some stuff. Turns out Phelonas has an ally. A mad doctor. Some woman, she works at one of the Creekside hospitals. I don't know which. But I do know her name. She calls herself Leora.'

Lady Sharrow said, 'This Dr Leora? Why is she working with a traitor? Why would a securely-employed, well-paid professional like a doctor risk throwing all that away? Consorting with Chaos is treason. And treason never ends well.'

Inyre sighed. He looked around the room, visibly taking in the Space Marines. The pipes made a faint glugging noise and the fans whirred on. He said, 'That's simple. I think she was maddened by grief.'

'Grief?'

'I heard some of her story. Apparently she had a son. And he got recruited by the Storm Ravens.'

Alaster felt a chill. Suddenly he realised where this was going. As he breathed he noted the remaining faint hint of the alcoholic scent, mixed in with the sterile and synthetic smell of the spacecraft's interior.

Evidently the Inquisitor felt an apprehension too. 'Oh,' she said. 'I have a feeling I know what's coming. But I want you to say it, anyway.'

Inyre nodded. 'The son apparently became a training casualty.'

'We can check this,' Kodos put in. 'Look for any deceased recruits on our books, with that family name.'

Lady Sharrow sighed and rolled her eyes. 'Brother-Sergeant,' she said, 'remember your earlier remark – what was that line? Something like being an Astartes not an Arbites?'

Kodos frowned. 'Yes, and?'

'And,' she said, 'you've just proved it. Do you really think this Dr Leora would be working under her original name? Particularly if she's planning treason?'

Kodos said nothing, but his scowl deepened.

'Yes, exactly,' she said. 'For the record, check anyway. Of course. But you won't find anything.' She turned back to Inyre. 'Anyway, carry on, Father, if you would. These traitors. What were they conspiring together for?'

He nodded. 'They were conspiring two things,' he said. 'Apparently the traitor seeks some sort of transcendence. He wants to manipulate the Inquisition into declaring Exterminatus against this planet – so he can offer it up as one big human sacrifice. Apparently this will somehow assist his scheme.'

The Inquisitor tilted her head to one side. 'A four-billion-person sacrifice would be rather impressive, certainly,' she mused. 'Although I'm unsure as to the exact calibration. Or how he expected to get it past all the opposition that would stir up.'

'They used Janessa,' he said. 'To engineer the current political crisis. Paralyse everyone and everything. Then launch the insurrection. It probably wouldn't have happened otherwise.'

'Just how did they do that?' the Inquisitor asked. 'Engineer this crisis, I mean.'

'The last election,' he said, 'wasn't really decisive. But some of the ruling party were actually closet Originists.'

'Ah.'

'And Phelonas used Janessa to persuade them to split. So the Assembly was hung. That's what Traditional Front is. It's not really a real thing – just a confessional façade, masquerading as a proper faction. It takes – or took – its orders straight from the Council of Hierarchs. Or rather, Janessa. And so really, they were being told what to do by Phelonas. And he told them to vote no to everything. So they did, and the planet started to fall apart.'

The Inquisitor said, 'And Phelonas was able to exploit the disorganisation. To stop anyone from doing anything that would help resolve the current crisis. Well, that does explain a few things. It had seemed rather odd that Delta's constitution decided to fall over just now. Historically, this planet's been rather stable.' She took a breath. 'Anyway, this Dr Leora. What was her oar in all this?'

'She wanted – wants! - the Storm Ravens destroyed,' Inyre said.

'Destroyed?' It was Patreus who spoke. He sounded baffled, as if the basic idea didn't quite compute. 'How would that work?'

Kodos's scowl had vanished. He was intent. He was watching the priest closely again. The overhead lights reflected off of his chest-eagle, and glittered against his metallic eye.

'Their plans,' Inyre said, 'seem to dovetail, at least a bit. They were working together on something. A – they described it, but I didn't understand all of what it was. I think they were making some kind of poison.'

'Poison?' Kodos snorted. 'We're pretty resistant to poison!'

Inyre looked up at him. And then the priest dropped a verbal bombshell.

'It wasn't for you,' he told the Space Marine. 'It was for the geneseed.'

The temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Once more, the main pipe made that _chug-chug-chug_, slightly vibrating the decking as it did. Alaster heard and felt the slight rattle in the plates.

'The geneseed?' Kodos asked.

'Could that be done?' the Inquisitor asked him. Her face was composed and calm, but the tick in her eyebrow, Alaster noted, had got faster.

Kodos was frowning. 'I don't know,' he confessed. 'I'm a marine, not a Tech-Priest!'

'There was stuff about mutation and viroids or viruses,' Inyre said, 'or something. I got the impression they wanted to flood the geneseed tanks with some sort of substance. It would make them all mutate or die or something. I'm not a Tech-Priest, either, though. I didn't follow much of it. But apparently she – the mad doctor – was going to use some of the gear at the hospital to make it.'

Lady Sharrow actually looked a little worried. 'It sounds possible,' she said. 'You could maybe do something like that. If you had access to a state-of-the-art hospital's facilities. I've had to clean up after some insurgent groups, here and there. They do things like that – go to town with a bit of bargain-basement biowarfare. As weapons of mass destruction go, tailored diseases are cheaper than most others! Thing is, that's all baseline-human stuff. Geneseed I don't know much about.'

'I think,' Kodos said, 'it sounds like we're going to need to consult the Magos.' He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The decking under him creaked just a little.

'Yes,' Lady Sharrow said, 'that could be wise.' She turned her attention back to Inyre. 'Did they do it?' she asked. 'Did they make it? Do they _have_ a geneseed antagonist? A working one, I mean?'

'They had something,' he said. 'Whether it works, I don't know. Hey, you seem more worried about that than about the Exterminatus thing.'

'Of course I am!' she snapped, an abrupt wave of anger flashing over her face. 'If this skak-wit heretic is cooking up geneseed-wreckers, this just went to a whole new level of awful!' She looked around the room, scanning the marines present. 'Don't you understand? Can't you see the implication? Damn it, it's staring you in the face!'

Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard. She was shaking, just a little. The tick above her eyebrow was frantic now and there was a wild look in her eyes. The lights reflected in her widened pupils, two stark, sharp, small white glares. Her breathing rasped past her nostrils. Alaster could hear it quite clearly.

Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. She spoke again. Addressing the marines, she said, 'I know your geneseed is basically Ultramarine, bar a few minor issues. So if it works on you lot … it'll probably work on most other Space Marine chapters too! Imagine that … a plague of dying geneseed!'

'We don't know,' Alaster heard himself say, 'that it's infectious.' Given this little piece of news, he noted that he sounded remarkably calm.

'And we don't know,' he heard Kodos say, 'that it _isn't_ infectious, Brother-Marine.'

'Can we say the words, major security crisis, perhaps?' The Inquisitor took a ragged breath and wiped a hand along her brow. There was a hint of sweat gleaming there, Alaster saw. She said, 'We've just transitioned to a whole new level of awful here. This isn't just one single little planet's problem. This could be the beginning of a major, galactic-level crisis.'

'Skak,' Alaster heard Nasty say. Nasty had, Alaster thought, summed the whole situation up quite succinctly.

'This is – this is monstrous!' Patreus said, sounding deeply offended at the whole basic concept of the antagonist.

'This traitor,' the Inqsuisitor said, 'and this mad doctor, they have to be stopped! Before they can implement this – and before they have a chance to tell anyone else what they've got! If word of this gets out…' She shuddered. 'Every xeno empire, every insurrectionist maniac and every Chaos warlord everywhere are going to do everything to get the formula! If the news gets out … give it a year and everyone, everywhere will have it! This is a disaster! By the Emperor, a disaster!'

'Not all chapters have Ultra-derived geneseed,' Alaster felt the need to point out. Again, he surprised himself by sounding so calm. 'It may give us a problem – but not everyone else, surely?'

'Something like two thirds of them do,' Kodos said. 'If two thirds of its chapters became inviolable, what would that mean for the Imperium's defence?'

Alaster's mind momentarily flashed back to that bus ride back on Gamma, what seemed like a lifetime ago. He remembered his discussions with Patreus. Trade in the Imperium as a network, with worlds as nodes. Civilisation as a sort of gossamer web, beautiful but so dreadfully fragile. He recalled that chilling mental image of the web fraying, unravelling, falling as critical failure-points were reached, exceeded. He shivered.

Lady Sharrow shook her head. 'No, but that's not even the worst-case. Worst-case scenario, they've knocked out a generalised antagonist, and what does that mean? It means geneseed enhancement becomes basically useless!'

'By the Emperor,' Patreus said, 'an end to the Space Marines! That's - that's monstrous!'

'Is that possible?' Alaster heard himself ask.

'We have to find out,' Lady Sharrow said. She looked grimly determined. 'Somebody go and get Kelso!'

The Magos was promptly summoned. She arrived a few minutes later. Her robe was stained with some machine-grease and she had a bag of tools slung over one shoulder. 'What is it?' Kelso said as she entered the compartment. 'I'm a bit busy right now.'

'This is important,' Lady Sharrow said to her.

Kelso sighed. 'So is the Number Three fuel line. And the starboard back-up pump.' At that moment, a sort of banging-knocking sound started echoing out of the door. It was loud. 'And talking of which, there it goes! I didn't have a chance to seal it properly. Hang on.' She reached down and dug something out of her bag. As the red sleeve of her robe slid back, Alaster got a good look at her hand. It was, he saw, completely robotic.

Inyre was staring at the gleaming metal with an expression of revulsion. He shuddered. Then he seemed to catch himself and he forced himself to sit still. He glanced around, as if looking to see if anyone had caught his little moment of emotion.

Kelso was holding some sort of small box-like device. She tapped a couple of buttons on it. Moments later, the sound declined and then was silent. 'Okay,' she said. 'That'll do for a few minutes. Hopefully there isn't too big a puddle of fuel sat in the bottom of that compartment! Now, what is it?' Her hood turned toward the Inquisitor.

'We've just been told a rather disturbing story,' Lady Sharrow said.

'Oh,' the Magos said. 'Well, I'd suggest not eating any cheese before bedtime, then.' A long sigh echoed out from under her hood. 'Look, I'm sorry, but honestly, is that all? The modern galaxy isn't short on scary stories.'

'Please don't try my patience, Priestess of Mars.' Lady Sharrow was glaring at Kelso. 'It is not infinite. And anyway, where's your curiosity?'

Kelso said, 'For the record, I don't intimidate. At all. I turned that reaction off about a century ago, as a little neurological experiment. And I've never seen any reason to turn it back on again. But anyway, I suppose we may as well get on with this. What do you want from me, Lady Sharrow?'

'I'd like to seek your professional opinion, actually,' the Inquisitor said.

The Tech-Priestess actually twitched with visible surprise. 'Really? A science question? Well, why didn't you just say so?'

Somewhere in the bowels of the Thunderhawk, something fell to the floor with a clang. The Magos's head turned briefly in the direction of the corridor.

'Because,' Lady Sharrow said, with an edge in her voice, 'you didn't seem keen on letting me get a word in edge-wise. Anyway, all that aside, we do need your opinion – your scientific opinion, as it were.'

'Well,' Kelso said, sounding surprised and pleased, 'okay then. But bear in mind that my speciality field is biology, in particular practical genetic enginnering. If you need to ask me about, oh I don't know, quark-gluon plasmas maybe, or high-redshift cosmology – well, I'll do what I can, obviously, but they aren't really my area.'

The Inquisitor said, 'This is right up your street, I can assure you. Just hypothetically, Magos, do you consider a geneseed antagonist possible?'

'An antagonist? In what way?'

'At the moment,' Lady Sharrow said, 'we're not entirely sure. I suppose what I'm asking is – geneseed. Is it killable? Can it die? Can it be damaged?'

'Can it be damaged? Of course it can! You have to store it quite carefully! And this is something I keep having to beat into Space Marines' heads all the time! Just because they're almost bombproof doesn't mean it is!' Then she paused and twitched in an embarrassed. 'Oh, sorry, that was a bit of a rant, wasn't it?'

A hint of a smile played on Lady Sharrow's face. 'Just a bit,' she said. 'You were saying, store. How do you do it?'

'Geneseed isn't senescent,' the Magos said. 'It doesn't age, the way normal human tissue does. In some ways, actually, it's a bit similar to cancer cells. They don't age either – they carry on replicating forever, if a suitable supply of nutrients is allowed for. So as long as they're fed and watered, if you will, and kept warm, geneseeds don't ever go off, as it were. You can store them more or less indefinitely.'

'Okay,' the Inquisitor said. 'Now, you say if nutrients are provided. So am I right in thinking that geneseed can be, uh, killed?'

'Oh yes,' Kelso said. 'It's living tissue. It might not age, but it's not inherently-immortal.'

'What sort of things can hurt it?'

'Well, fire will get it, of course.' The Magos shrugged. 'Although that's not really a surprise. If it lives, fire can kill it! Umm, what else? Well, if the nutrient supply fails, then the geneseed will die too.'

'Can it be poisoned?' the Inquisitor asked.

'Poisoned? Of course! The chemistry of the storage environment has to be monitored very closely! The last thing you want is a load of free radicals, say, getting loose in there!'

'Okay. Now, here's what might be an odd question. Can geneseed get sick?'

'Can it get sick?' The Magos considered that one. 'Well, I suppose that a microbial colony could establish itself, if the maintainers were dumb enough to let it. Geneseed in a tank isn't a complete organism by itself – it doesn't have it own immune system! So I suppose hypothetically, a microbial infection is possible. Although the system operators would have to be pretty dumb to let it.'

'Does that happen?'

'Not really, no.' She paused, then added with just a hint of pride, 'I've done this work for six different Chapters now. And in all that time, there hasn't been one bacterial incursion on my watch.'

The Inquisitor nodded. 'All right. Now – one more question. Mutation. Is it possible to induce mutation in geneseed?'

'Well of course it is! It's a physical, organic system. It has physical, organic weaknesses. It contains genetic material – that's the whole point! And like all chemical structures, that material is vulnerable to radiation, cosmic rays, even mechanical stresses on the molecules themselves. Sometimes even just random copying errors. Codons can get knocked about. We do a lot of stuff to control those things, though. At the Ravenholme it's stored behind a dozen feet of stable-isotope concrete.' Alaster remembered the forress-within-a-fortress of the geneseed repository. He recalled his brief visit there. She continued, 'Also the geneseeds talk to each other. Through the culture medium. A chemical communication.'

'Like pheromones?' the Inquisitor asked.

'Uh, no, your Ladyship, not really. Not at all. But if that model helps you, then by all means think of it! But anyway, the point is, they're exchanging genetic data all the time. So it stops any one geneseed from wandering too far from baseline. It's all very clever and it works wonderfully! I mean, look at the Ravens.' She gestured at the Space Marines. 'Apart from that initial cock-up, we haven't had a single unplanned mutagenic event in five thousand years.'

The Inquisitor was frowning. 'So in theory … so in theory, geneseed isn't subvertable?'

'Subvertable? Uh, I didn't actually say that. What I was trying to say is, we have it as under control as we can. But stuff does happen sometimes. Unfortunately, no natural process is ever wholly mastered by us. Things do go wrong sometimes.'

Overhead, the fans carried on turning behind their grates, rotating with that now-so-familiar quiet whirr.

The Inquisitor took a long, slow breath. 'Okay. Now, a moment ago, I asked you if you thought a geneseed antagonist is possible. And you've spent the last few minutes trying to divert us away from the question. Which I don't actually mind, because I reckon I need the wider background. But, Magos, I'm sorry but I need a yes or a no. Which is it? Can there be such a thing as a geneseed antagonist?'

'If you mean could an agent be introduced into the culture medium to kill stored geneseed,' the Magos said, 'then – yes. Except that would be easy to spot and trivial to stop before much damage was done.'

'We can assume, then,' Lady Sharrow mused, 'that isn't what our traitors are doing. I doubt they're going to go in for stuff that's easily stopped. It's hardly their style. But is possible to injure geneseed, in some more subtle way, I mean? Perhaps so it looked healthy, stayed alive, but just … I don't know. Didn't work properly, maybe? A way to make a whole batch defective? Taint it somehow?'

'If you mean could the geneseed be damaged in some way, mutated maybe, so it always fails…' The Magos trailed off, lost in a thought for a moment. After a few seconds' pause, she spoke again. 'Well, now there's a question. Except … That would be a major project. A very major project. Almost up there with creating the geneseed in the first place. But, but … Purely in terms of possibilities, I suppose, I guess I have to say yes.'

The pipes chugged again. The Inquisitor said, 'Yes, your answer is yes? You're saying it could be done?'

'I think … yes, I think it could be done. Why – are you suggesting that someone has?'

Then the Tech-Priestess appeared to finally notice Inyre.

'Oh,' she said. 'So they have, have they?'

'Purely in terms of possibilities,' the Inquisitor said, with a hint of mockery in her voice, 'I suppose, I geuss, I have to say yes.' She even managed to match the Magos's tone of voice.

The Magos winced. 'Well,' she said, 'perhaps we should all have just stayed in bed today, then.'

'One more question for your professional knowledge,' Lady Sharrow said. 'What sort of facilities would you need for this?'

'It would depend,' the Tech-Priestess said, 'on how much you knew at the start. If you went in there knowing nothing at all about geneseed beyond it's existence … well, then you'd be looking at a huge project. The kind of thing that needs a big, wealthy, industrial government shovelling money into it. Over decades. I mean, obviously it can't be done easily! Otherwise half the galaxy would be at it – and would've been at it for millennia!'

Alaster took a deep breath. He noticed that the scent of alcohol had now entirely dissipated. The chamber just smelt of the usual cleaning agents and the metals and plastics of the Thunderhawk's structure.

The Inquisitor chewed on her lip. 'But if you went in there already knowing a lot about geneseed? If you had a strong knowledge-base to start from? In that case … could you do it with, say the facilities at a modern hospital?'

'A modern hospital? This is starting to sound like you've got a suspect.'

'Well? Could you?'

'Could I? No! I wouldn't! But could someone else? Possibly. If they had access to, oh I don't know, you'd need a scanning-tunnelling microscope. For starters. And you'd need centrifuges, of course. You always need centrifuges! And some pretty serious cogitators, to do all the protein-folding analyses. In fact they'd be one of the most important bits. At least if you want to be done before the Universe folds up and dies, anyway! And you'd need loads of other kit. It'd be an impressive shopping list. But a modern hospital's genetic-medicine suite – it would have all of that stuff.' Magos Kelso thought about it for a moment more. 'In that specific case, then yes, maybe you could do it. Maybe. You'd have to be starting from a rather superhuman knowledge-base, though.'

'Superhuman,' the Inquisitor said, 'unfortunately, may just be the right word.' She was staring right at Kelso.

'My lady?' Kodos asked. 'What is it?'

Alaster shifted his weight. He heard and felt the decking-grill underneath him grate as it scraped a little against its neighbour.

'Something else I suppose you should all know,' Lady Sharrow said. 'In the Inquisition's records, there's a little note that's drawn some attention. There was a Tech-Marine. Who studied on Mars.' She took a breath. 'And he was of the Alpha Legion. And he was called – guess what? – Phelonas. And this was ten thousand years ago. Pre-Heresy. _And he studied on Mars_. We don't know precisely what he studied – those records are gone. But he might just have that knowledge!'

It was Inyre who spoke first. 'Dr Leora and the traitor,' he said, staring away toward infinity. A tone of appalled awe was in his eyes and his voice. 'Working together. He – that slate! The one he gave her, with the specifications! It must've been full of other data! And if he studied on Mars…'

The Tech-Priestess was considering this scene, hooded head cocked to one side. 'Okay,' she said, 'I think it was about time I was filled in. Something's come up, hasn't it?'

'Oh yes,' Lady Sharrow said. 'By the Throne, it has! And I think there's a hospital somewhere in this city that we need to pay a visit to.' Her voice sounded with grim determination.

'My lady,' Kodos said, 'what if this is the false lead? That we talked about?'

'Brother-Sergeant,' she said, 'that's an excellent point. And it may well be true. But this is too important. We cannot pass this up. We cannot! It is actually not an exaggeration to say that the security of the whole Imperium might rest on this. Damn it, _the evil bastard studied on Mars_!'

'So,' Kodos said, 'what are your plans? I assume you'll want to do some fact-checking.'

She nodded. She looked at Inyre. 'Father,' she said, 'am I right in thinking that the power's out across the city?'

Inyre nodded. 'It went out a while back.'

'Okay,' she sighed. 'That complicates things.' She turned back to Kelso. 'Magos, is it possible to rig up some sort of portable generator? That could be linked to a building's power supply?'

Kelso sounded surprised. 'Possible? We're carrying one right on board! Emergency generators are standard field kit.'

'Good,' Lady Sharrow said, 'because we're going to need one. First up, we're paying a little visit to the offices of the City Government.'

'Why them?' Kodos asked.

'Simple. They'll have a register of all the doctors who're registered to practise in this city. Now that is a starting-place!' She then turned and hit Inyre with a sudden, angry glare. 'Just one thing, Father Inyre.'

He looked up. 'What would that be?'

'In the event that you've told me lies,' she said, 'I can assure you that you'll hang.' She smiled, her mouth curling into a cold arc. It wasn't a friendly gesture. 'I just thought we should be clear on that.'

Inyre was once more surprisingly composed. He just shrugged. 'That's about what I would expect,' he said.

A few minutes later, an odd delegation left the Thunderhawk. It consisted of Alaster, Nasty, Patreus, Kodos, the Inquisitor and the Magos. Eorvan, Sandrer and Fegust were left behind, partly to guide the Thunderhawk and partly to keep an eye on Father Inyre. Until it could be entirely confirmed, his story still merited some suspicious caution.

The delegation left the Thunderhawk on foot. However, they quickly acquired a van. Lady Sharrow, with Kodos stood threateningly behind her, had turfed its unexpecting driver out. It had simply been a case of grab whatever came to hand. Whilst the former driver had stood there, alternating between impotent fuming and boggling at the presence of Space Marines, they had loaded the portable generator into the back of it.

Then the van's engine had coughed into life, and they pulled out.

They arrived at the city hall about an hour later. With the traffic signals down, it was fair to describe Creekside's roads as being in a state of total chaos. The journey should have taken twenty minutes.

The city hall sat at the back of a sizeable public square. The square was bordered with trees. The streets around it were marked with elaborate wrought-iron lamp posts and the houses and shops in this area were all built in the highly traditional 'New Gothic' style that had been popular about six hundred years previously, when this part of the city area had first been laid out. They were all steep gables and peaked windows with polished sandstone casements. Drainpipes were marked with elaborate, leering gargoyles. The roofs of the houses were tiled in dark slate. Buildings in Deltan cities generally had electrical heating, including these, but that hadn't stopped the architects here from building in decorative chimneys as an extra stylistic flourish. As they were decorative only, many of these chimneys were constructed in manners different from more functional ones. There were tapering chimneys and twisting, spiralling chimneys and thin spike-like chimneys, as well as the more-conventional brick-cuboid variety. The mass of chimneys gave the roofline of the streets an oddly organic look, as if a forest of sinewy stalks was rising from them. Behind them rose the glass-and-steel towers of Creekside's business district and the peaks and spires of the city's many churches. In one of them, somewhere in the middle distance, a bell was tolling. The low, sonorous sound rang out over the streets and houses.

Having never been to this area before, Alaster drank all of this in as the van pulled up in a vacant parking space near the square. The engine fell into silence and the doors clicked and scraped open. Alaster stepped out onto the pavement, his boots clanking against the cold stone.

'Alaster, Nasty,' Kodos said, 'go and get the generator.'

'Yes sergeant!' they both said.

Alaster shouldered his chainsword. It rattled against his cuirass as its weight settled over his shoulders on its strap. He then slid his bolt pistol back into its holster, so that both his hands were free. The shadow of a tree, planted nearby, fell over him. He looked up. The sky was still a brilliant, clear blue. Bright sunlight shone over the scene.

He and Nasty walked to the back of the van. The door clicked open. Inside was the generator. It wasn't as big as Alaster might have expected, being a roughly-rectangular apparatus about a metre long by maybe two thirds of that high and two thirds deep. It was a collection of cylinders and pipes and bolts and brackets, with a big readout panel at the front. There was a length of red electrical cable, all coiled up into a neatly-stored bundle, on the left-hand side.

On top of the biggest cylinder was a wooden candle plate. Awkwardly glued onto it was a creamy votive candle, with a metallic cog-and-skull token tied to one side of it by a black string. On the other side the string held a small piece of amber. Alaster wondered what that represented for a moment, then he dismissed the irrelevant thought.

Behind them and all around them, Alaster could hear the sounds of an inner city. Cars, traffic, horns, human voices blurring together in the middle-distance – it was a medley of urban sounds.

'You take that side,' he said to Nasty. He pointed to the opposite end of the device.

Nasty's helmet nodded. 'Okay, Brother.'

The generator was sat on a flat, rectangular carrying-plate. Two sort metal poles, handles for carrying the pallet and its cargo, emerged from each end. Alaster leaned down and grasped his two handles. Nasty did the same at his end.

'Ready?' Alaster asked.

Nasty nodded. 'Let's go.

They lifted each of their respective ends, raising the generator up on its pallet. They carried it out from the back of the van. Quietly and without fuss, the doors automatically closed and locked themselves with a clunk and a click.

Alaster twisted round a bit so he could see behind him, walking awkwardly backwards as they rejoined the main group at the front of the van.

'Okay, you've got it,' Kodos said. He looked at Lady Sharrow. 'I guess we follow you now, my lady,' he said.

She nodded. 'This way!' She pointed toward the city hall.

The road was between them and the square. However, this side of it was quiet. They made it across without any hesitation. Then it was up onto the pavement and through the square. They passed under the enclosing row of trees. They passed a couple of park benches and then they passed the ornamental fountain in the centre of the square. Moments later, they were ascending the stairs in front of the colonnade that bracketed the city hall's main entrance. Above them loomed the clock tower, a brick and sandstone spire pointing defiantly into the sky. Near its peaked roof, little gargoyles gurned and glowered down. The tower cast a long, needle-like shadow across the square in front of the hall.

The clock, Alaster noted, had stopped at three minutes to six. That meant the time it displayed was off by about four hours. He wondered what day it had stopped on. Overhead, some birds were circling. They added their raucous calls to the sounds of the city around them.

'Skakking gulls,' Nasty muttered. 'Skakking downside of living on a skakking estuary!' Then he grunted as, for a moment, his foot caught one of the steps. The boot scraped against the stone.

'Hey,' Alaster said, 'careful! We don't want to drop this!'

'Here's the door,' he heard the Inquisitor say.

Moments later, they entered the cool relative darkness of the main lobby to the civic building. The floor was polished marble, white and pink blocks set in a tessellating pattern. The walls were lined with decorative columns and far overheard, an elaborate electrical chandelier descended from the ceiling. Its light was entirely extinct today. Its crystal sconces glittered in the half-light leaking in through the door. The gloomy interior was quite the change from the bright, blazing daylight outside.

There was a creak and a muffled expostulation.

The contrast in light was steep enough that it took Alaster's eyes a moment to catch up. When they did, he saw the presence of a reception desk up ahead. And miracle of miracles, there was actually someone at it! A woman, sat behind it in the semi-darkness. She had been leaning back nonchalantly – the creak had been her chair as she'd abruptly sat up. She was staring at the Space Marines with a look of confused puzzlement on her face.

In front of her was an expensive-looking cogitator, as lifeless as the huge chandelier above. The sole illumination within the room was provided by several fat, dribbling candles sat on the surface of the reception desk. They were of a rich yellow tallow and they gave off a sooty creamy-orange flame. The flickering light picked out deep shadows on the woman's face.

'Who are you?' she demanded, sounding incredulous.

The Inquisitor strode over. Her boot-heels clicked loudly on the marble floor. The sound echoed in the cavernous space.

She was brandishing her rosette. It glinted golden in the candle.

'Inquisition,' she said. She glanced over her shoulder at the marines. 'And Astartes,' she added. To the woman, she said, 'Who are you, and who's in charge here?'

'Uh, I'm the receptionist,' the woman said. 'Mela Cairy. That's my name. I guess who's in charge – that would be the Mayor! But she's not in today.'

'It's a pretty poor show,' the Inquisitor said, 'when the city's chief executive can't be bothered to turn up for work.'

'Uh, there's no power,' Cairy said awkwardly. 'Nothing's working.'

'Well,' the Inquisitor said, 'that's what contingency plans are for! But anyway, I guess that's above your pay-grade. Tell me, Miss Cairy, where is the junction room?'

'The junction-?' Then the receptionist noted the device that Alaster and Nasty were carrying, and the presence of the Magos. 'Uh, down the corridor over there, second on the left and down the flight of stairs! It's the door at the bottom!'

Lady Sharrow nodded. 'Okay. Thank you.' She looked at Alaster, Nasty and Magos Kelso. 'I take it you can guess what to do?' she said.

'We'll get on it,' the Magos said.

After a few minutes and some hasty jury-rigging, the electric chandelier in the reception had blazed into life. The entire building was filled with the sound of previously-dormant electrical and electronic systems as they returned to life. Radiators clicked and pinged as they warmed up. Cogitators and processors clicked and beeped as their computational spirits were stirred back into sluggish life. Air conditioning units rumbled and grumbled and hissed as fans and convectors were suddenly roused from their unexpected slumber.

'The lights went off, I take it,' the Inquisitor was saying to Cairy as Alaster and the others returned, 'because the money ran out?'

Cairy nodded. 'Basically yes. The Authority missed its bill.'

The Inquisitor sighed and shook her head. 'If nothing else,' she said, 'there are going to have to be some changes to the way public utilities are run around here. When all this is done, I mean! But anyway, in the meantime - where is the central finance office?'

'Upstairs,' the receptionist said. 'Second door on the left and straight down the corridor. Only no-one's there.'

Lady Sharrow shrugged. 'Then there's no-one to get in my way then, is there?'

The central finance office turned out to look exactly how one might expect. Rows of desks, bearing cogitators and screens and keyboards. Lines of chairs sat in front of them. Little votive candles were dotted here and there on the desks and on top of processor-stacks, bearing the seals of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Like pretty much all administrative facilities in the Imperium, the room had a corner set aside as a small shrine to the Emperor. There was a small gilded statue on a marble pedestal, and in front of it were three vases of flowers. They were wilting, Alaster noted. It had been a while since they'd been watered.

Of the room itself, the floor was covered with a bland carpet, coloured in that particularly-monotonous shade of beige that only large public institutions seem to be able to source. The walls and ceiling were simply painted in a bland, boring white. Lighting was supplied by rows of striplights overhead. One side of the room was also a bank of windows, looking out over the street beyond.

'Imagine working here,' Nasty said, helmet turning as he surveyed the room.

'I don't have to,' Alaster said. 'Don't forget, I practically almost did!'

It was a weird thought, but if he'd stayed in Colvin, Alaster realised that he would almost certainly have ended up somewhere like this.

Patreus was eyeing the shrine. 'Sergeant,' he said suddenly, 'could I, you know, go and clean that up? It's looking a bit neglected.'

Kodos looked toward the shrine. There was a patina of dust visible on the statue of the Emperor. 'Yes, all right,' he said. 'Nasty, I want you to keep watch on the door. Alaster, go to the windows. Let us know if anything interesting happens out there. Not that it probably will, of course!'

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster said. He walked over to the window to take watch. Patreus and Nasty moved off to their allocated tasks.

Lady Sharrow, the Inquisitor and Kodos gathered at what appeared to be the master-cogitator. It was sat on a desk out by itself at the end of the room. The desk was larger and the chair behind it visibly-nicer than any of the others. Everything about it suggested senior management, including the little name-plaque on the desk that said, ERIO FEL – SENIOR CITY ACCOUNTS AUDITOR.

'Now, just give me a minute while my rosette cracks its way in,' Lady Sharrow was saying. She was doing something to the cogitator with her rosette. 'It's such a clever little thing. It'll have us logged into the main system in no time.'

'What are you doing?' Alaster heard Magos Kelso say.

For his part, he was looking out over the street beyond. The window he was looking through was frustratingly narrow, offering only a limited field of view. From the outside, their casements all conformed to the New Gothic façade of the city hall as a whole. Although the entire wall on this side of the room was windows, the steeply-pointed-arch style meant that each window was quite narrow.

Something beeped. Lady Sharrow said, 'Aha! Here we go!'

The street below was tree-lined. It looked like it was primarily residential, lined with a long rank of terraced dwellings. The houses were in a similar style to the ones around the square. They were all four stories high, tall, thin structures with prominent bay windows and peaked roofs and more of the decorative chimneys. Each house was separated from the road by a very narrow garden, really not much more than a postage-stamp of land. Still, despite their smallness, the neatness and the well-maintained facades suggested this was an affluent part of town. Alaster supposed that the lower-level citizens would only be suffered here as cleaners or servants.

'What are you doing?' the Magos said again.

Many of the houses, he noted, appeared to be subdivided into flats. The give-aways were the presence of multiple buttons on the door-bells and the varying styles in drapery and furniture visible here and there through the windows. Just visible above the peaked roofs were the towers and spires of the rest of the city.

Behind him, the office was filled with the hum of idling cogitators. Lady Sharrow was saying, 'Normally what I'm about to do is frowned upon.' She paused. Fingers clacked on a keyboard. Alaster heard what sounded like something being pulled from a pocket. There was a rustle of fabric. As per his orders, though, he kept his eyes on the street below.

'What are you about to do?' Magos Kelso sounded increasingly exasperated. 'Whatever is that card for – oh. I see. An unlimited platinum.'

'Yes,' Lady Sharrow said. 'Nominally it draws off an Inquisitorial account. Unlimited expenses and all that. Today, we're going to push that until something falls out.'

'I think I have a glimmering now,' Kelso said. 'Of what you're going to do.'

A man was walking along the street below. Alaster focused on him. To his surprise, the Space Marine noted that the man wasn't richly-dressed. He was wearing fairly standard Creeksider tunic-and-trousers, but they were in a lower-level style and the colours were drab. He had a pair of plain black boots on his feet. Alaster wondered what the man was doing here. He obviously didn't live in this part of town. Alaster doubted the City Government would give lower-levels a residence-pass for this area.

Something else caught Alaster's attention. The man was carrying something. It looked roughly tubular, but the man kept it in the hand on the other side of his body. It swung back and forth as he walked and was mostly in his shadow, so Alaster had trouble getting a clear look at it.

Lady Sharrow was saying, 'If we did this too often, it would be rather destabilising! But to be fair, I think Delta's already been quite thoroughly destabilised. So this won't make things any worse – and it may even help! Let me just put these numbers in…' Some more keys clacked.

'You're re-floating the city, aren't you?' Kelso said.

'Indeed I am.' The Inquisitor sounded pleased with herself. Keys clacked and something beeped. 'There. Two billion Octalian crowns sounds like a nice round number, doesn't it?'

'Two _billion_-?' The Magos made a sputtering sound. 'Yes, I'll say! That should be enough to run this place for months!'

'Once we're done here,' Lady Sharrow said with satisfaction in her voice, 'a phone call to the power plant's management should get the electric back on. Particularly if I offer them the chance to decorate a streetlamp!' She followed that with a short, sarcastic laugh. The sound had an edge of bitterness in it, as well as amusement.

Alaster was watching the man down there intently. He felt a sense of unease. Something wasn't right about this. He stepped back from the window a little way, drawing back into the partial concealment of the stone frame. The man's movements weren't idle or random. He wasn't some bum who'd wondered in from elsewhere, or a striker going for a walk or something like that. Just as equally, though, his advance had a stealthy, furtive air, as if he had something planned. His movements were measured and purposeful. He kept looking from side to side, surveying the houses and buildings around him. It was as if he was looking for something.

The man was moving along the pavement, in the shade of the trees. As Alaster watched, the man stepped into a patch of unobstructed sunlight.

'Well,' Lady Sharrow said, 'that's the Creekside Authority pretty comprehensively de-bankrupted.'

'Hey,' Kelso said, 'can't you just do this for the planet as a whole?'

'A two billion refloat is one thing,' Lady Sharrow said, 'but an eighty _thousand_ billion refloat is rather another matter. I'm drawing on a big account here, but it's not bottomless. Besides, if I did that – well, unless we're in a liquidity trap, then I've just popped Delta's money-supply. I don't think anyone's going to thank me for runaway inflation!'

'So if you're not doing this for everywhere,' Kelso said, 'what was the point?'

'The point,' Lady Sharrow said, 'is that with the city's public institutions coming back online, it'll make the stuff I need to do here a whole lot easier. Plus with any luck it might start getting people off the street and back to work. And given what's going on elsewhere on the planet, we could really do with the masses being distracted! Now, just let me crack into the Authority healthcare databases…'

Alaster was still watching the man in the street below. Something glittered and caught his eye. Alaster frowned, squinting to try to see what it was. It was small, at this distance too small even for his enhanced eyes.

'That doesn't look promising,' he heard the Magos say.

'Oh, how annoying!' the Inquisitor said, sounding exasperated. 'The finance department has budget-only access! We're segregated from the personnel files. Honestly, have these people never heard of joined-up government? Oh well, nothing I can't deal with.' Fingers clicked and clacked on the keyboard. 'It'll just take extra time.'

'I suppose,' the Magos said, 'this is another of those bungled public-sector cogitator projects we're looking at here.'

'I have wondered,' the Inquisitor said, fingers still clacking, 'if Machine Spirits are allergic to Administratum types!'

Alaster vaguely heard Kelso make a non-committal noise in reply to that. He briefly remembered Kelso's peculiar scepticism toward the widely-accepted idea of Machine Spirits. Even for a Tech-Adept, she was a bit strange.

He turned up the magnification on his eyelenses. The man's face and chest zoomed into view. There was a pendant hung around his neck, on a short brass chain. The pendant was a metal symbol. Alaster looked at it. It was-

His breath caught in his throat.

He remembered the spaceport on Gamma, all that time ago. He recalled the woman behind the desk, with her damnable neck-decoration. Alaster was looking at exactly the same symbol! An eagle, clutching the sacred double-helix of Human DNA.

Originist – the man down there was an Originist!

As he saw that, realisation clicked inside Alaster's head. The odd tubular thing the man was carrying - it was a club!

'Sergeant,' Alaster said, without taking his eyes from the street below, 'I think we've got trouble on its way.'

'What is it?' Kodos asked.

'There's an Originist wandering around down there,' Alaster said. 'And he's armed. Not much, just a club, but he's acting like he's looking for something. And – skak, here's another one!'

Following the previous man, another shabbily-dressed Originist walked into view.

'I thought they were all down south,' Kodos said. 'Skakkers! Apparently not, then. Are there any more out there?'

Alaster risked leaning forward a little, to try and peer past the window's stone embrasure. He was able to see a bit further down the street. And what he saw amongst the tree-lined pavement and the New Gothic houses did not reassure him. 'Sergeant, there's a mob,' he said. He attempted a quick headcount. There were ten of them on the front row and the crowd of people appeared to be about five rows deep, so … 'About fifty, I think.'

He could hear them now. They weren't making any effort at stealth. They were singing some sort of church chant. There was a man walking at the front, wearing what looked like ecclesiastical robes. They were embroidered with eagles clutching at helices. He was holding up some kind of book in one hand and was swinging a golden incense-censer in the other. The demented procession made for a bizarre contrast with the residential ordinariness of the street.

The ecclesiast at the front, Alaster saw, had a bolt pistol hung from his belt.

'Weapons?' Kodos asked promptly.

'Hard to tell,' Alaster said, 'but I can see some of the front rank have pistols. Bolt ones, I mean.'

The two who'd walked into view before must have been the advance guard, Alaster supposed. The chanting procession appeared to be the main body.

'Well,' Kodos said grimly, 'I doubt this is coincidence. Where are they going?'

'This road leads to the square at the front,' Alaster said. The finance office was located along one of the sides of the city hall complex.

'Your ladyship,' Alaster heard Kodos say, 'how long are you going to need?'

Her fingers were still clacking on the keyboard. 'At least a few more minutes, Brother-Sergeant. The database-structure is a mess! Honestly, I could puke a better system than this! I'm trying to do a search of the hospitals for a Dr Leora, but it's not set up to handle structured queries! How they administrate anything in this place is beyond me!'

'I wonder if that's kind of the idea,' Kelso said. 'There do seem to be rather a lot of desks in this office. Perhaps more than is needed. I wonder if there's a bit of make-work going on?'

'All right,' Kodos said. 'I'm going to go join Karo, have a look what's out there.' Alaster heard the sergeant walk over. The floor of the office creaked faintly under his heavy footsteps.

A moment later and Kodos was at the embrasure beside Alaster. He took one look out then stepped back, swearing angrily. To Alaster he said, 'Pull back from the window - no point letting them see you!'

'Yes Sergeant,' Alaster said, stepping back. 'Do you think they're after us?'

'Yes,' Kodos said. 'It seems too convenient they'd be here right now by chance. I wonder if they saw us land, at the port – or did that man tip them off? Anyway, it doesn't matter yet. Karo, Patreus, I want you down at the main entrance. Get that receptionist woman out of the way and cover the entrance. If they try to enter – stop them! By whatever means necessary.'

'Yes Sergeant!' Alaster and Patreus said. They both moved toward the door, breaking into a sprint.

Behind them, Alaster heard Kodos say, 'Shepherd, you're staying here with me. Just in case they get in by some other entrance! I'll cover the door, you stay near Kelso and the Inquisitor. Anyone tries to do anything clever to them, you hit them with that axe!'

'With pleasure, Sergeant!' Nasty's voice said. He sounded excited.

Alaster and Patreus sprinted into the corridor outside. Now that the lights were back on, it was well-lit. Like the office it was a bland institutional space, plain walls and a deadly-dull carpet. They ran down it, their booted feet thumping on the floor. Alaster could feel the boards rebounding under him.

Moments later they were in the main hall, pounding down the stairs. For a moment Alaster wished he had his jump pack, so he could just leap straight down from the stairs to the floor. Instead he gritted his teeth and sprinted down the stairs, feet clattering from riser to riser.

Down below, the receptionist looked up, startled by the noise. She noticed the two Space Marines as they sprinted down to the floor. 'What-?' she began.

Alaster cut her off. 'Get inside somewhere!' he barked. 'Trouble's on its way, and it's armed!'

For a moment he wondered if the woman had been the one who'd tipped the mob off. But the look of genuine confusion and then spreading panic in her eyes convinced him that she hadn't. She clearly was not at all prepared for what was about to happen. She leapt up from her chair and bolted toward an inner door. A moment later and she had vanished from the reception.

The door banged shut behind her.

Alaster quickly surveyed the space around them. The best cover for keeping watch on the door, he surmised, came from two thick columns, one on either side of the door. They were wide enough that a fully-armed Space Marine could comfortably fit behind one. They were close to the door – close enough that the intruding heretics could be attacked while they were still at the point of bottleneck. That would make controlling the crowd much easier.

'Patreus – that one, on the left!' Alaster's chainsword was in his hand now, and he gestured with it, toward the leftward column. He didn't even recall drawing it, or his bolt pistol, but instinct had done its thing and they were back in his grip.

Patreus's helmet turned toward the column. 'Right away, Brother!' He pounded over to it and dropped into a firing crouch beside it.

Alaster moved over to his designated column.

The main door was still half-ajar, as they'd left it. A rectangle of blue sky-light spilled in, reflecting on the marble. Through the gap Alaster could see part of the square, and the fountain. He could hear the tinkling noise the water was making – it had come back to life, he noted. Perhaps its pumps ran off the hall's electrical systems? From beyond it, the city noises he'd heard earlier were leaking their way into the hall.

With them there was now a faint but unmistakable sound of heretical chanting.

For a moment Alaster considered closing the doors. Then he realised that would cut off their view of the approach. Probably best to leave them open. Perhaps with luck the mob would just think no-one was home.

He looked down to give the polished metal shape of his bolt pistol a final check-over. With a quiet snick, he slid the safety off. He took a deep breath. The air inside the city hall smelt of floor polish and dusty carpet, with a slight aroma of city scents coming in through the door.

The chanting was louder now. Alaster caught sight of movement outside the door. It was the man with the club and the pendant! He was looking up at the open door. He didn't seem to have noticed the lurking Space Marines yet, although Alaster supposed the contrast between bright daylight outside and the dimmer interior was probably not helping the man.

The man turned and shouted, 'Door's open! Someone's in there!'

'Worst stealth attack ever,' Patreus muttered. He didn't speak loudly, of course, but Alaster's Astartes ears heard him clearly over the distance. Alaster was entirely in agreement.

To Patreus, he said, 'Stay back behind the column. When they come up, I'm going to give them one warning. After that, if they don't back off, I want you to step out. Maybe a show of force will scare them off.'

Patreus nodded. 'Yes Brother. And if they keep trying to get in?'

When, Alaster thought cynically. Aloud, he said, 'Then we stop. Whatever means necessary. Down south they're attacking the Ravenholme. That means this is a war situation, and they're part of it. I expect we'll have to kill several of them before the rest bolt.'

Alaster had half-expected Patreus to offer some resistance to that idea. Instead, he sounded enthusiastic. 'Yes Brother!' Alaster remembered Patreus's discomfort with the assassination of the Loser governor back on Minoris. The contrast in his reactions was quite notable. It seemed that Patreus viewed this as belonging in an entirely different category to that earlier operation.

Either that or they were all starting to get jaded toward killing.

That, Alaster knew from the sermons he'd listened to during his training, was one of the great moral perils faced by Space Marines. Killing came very easily to Astartes warriors – indeed it had to, or they wouldn't be anything like as effective as they needed to be. However, there was such a thing as too easy, and it was something they had to watch for. Proportionate force must never be allowed to decay into indiscriminate slaughter. A hard-earned satisfaction in a job well-done was one thing, but a demented, maniacal joy in murder was a step on the path to Chaos. And, Alaster remembered Chaplain Fellack repeatedly telling the recruits, sometimes the line between the two had the thickness of a shadow.

The chanting was louder now.

'Go in!' a voice cried out. 'Brethren – go in! We must ensure this place is untainted!'

Alaster heard a sound that was unmistakeably that of many feet swarming up the steps, just out of sight of the narrow aperture offered by the door.

He stepped out from the column and planted himself in the middle of the space, where he was in full view of the door. They weren't being subtle, so nor would he, Alaster decided. He brandished his weapons in a very visible manner. His trigger-finger rested close to the trigger of his pistol and his sword-hand was wrapped firmly around the hilt of his chainsword.

The priest hove into view. For a moment he was silhouetted blackly against the sky, framed by the rectangular opening. He was still swinging his censer. A puff of heady, aromatic smoke billowed from it. His mouth was open as he chanted some Originist drivel.

Then he noticed Alaster.

The priest stuttered in mid-sentence. He twitched with surprise. The twitch rushed down the censer's chain, making the bronzed links clink and rattle. Its smooth arc of oscillation disrupted, the censer spasmed and crashed into the door. It smacked into the wood with a metallic thud and careened away. A plume of scented ash sprayed out of it.

The priest, Alaster noted, was a man apparently in his mid-sixties. He was bald on top with thin, greying hair around the bald patch. His sallow skin was marked with several scars, including a long, jagged one that ran across his face. It just missed one of his eyes. Oddly, it reminded Alaster of Nasty's facial scar.

The priest raised a hand and pointed. 'Muh-muh-muh…'

Alaster wondered for a moment where the man had got that scar from. Then it occurred to him that Inyre might not be the only ex-soldier amongst the Originists. He wondered for a moment if that had been one of their strategies. He wondered if the cult been able to grow so fast by recruiting amongst Guard survivors, particularly those who were survivors of engagements with Chaos Marines? That would be a radicalising experience, Alaster had to acknowledge. It veered close to his earlier musings, but he supposed acknowledging obvious fact wasn't the same thing as sympathising with the enemy.

'…M-mute-'

Alaster cut him off.

'My name's Brother Alaster,' he said, 'of the Storm Ravens. As you've probably gathered.' He glanced briefly at the lightning-raven symbol on his shoulder. He continued, 'And we don't want you in here. Save everyone a lot of trouble and just go away. Take this chance; I'm not offering twice!'

A look of holy rage wobbled over the cultist prelate's face. 'Abomination!' the man shrieked. 'Mutant! Monster! Faithful brethren, to me!'

The man dropped the censer. It clanged on the floor, the chain rattling down around it. Even as it fell the priest fumbled at his belt for the pistol.

'Patreus,' Alaster said into his helmet microphone, 'step out, please.'

'Heard and understood,' Patreus said. Alaster heard footfalls from the other pillar. Patreus was now stood in full view and the way into the city hall was blocked.

There was movement outside. A mass of Originists poured into view behind the doors. Their faces were distorted into ferocious leers of maniacal hatred. Some of them had guns but most of them were gripping clubs of various sorts. Some looked like proper, made-for-purpose weapons but others were clearly improvised. Chair- and table-legs were well-represented amongst the throng. The throng seethed, pushing and shoving to get in through the door. There was no evidence of any organisation or any kind of plan of action.

The heaving mass of fanatics was so obviously unprepared for any kind of battle that Alaster actually hesitated a moment more. The priest was still fumbling at his pistol.

'Just go away,' Alaster said. 'For once in your miserable lives, be reasonable!'

That seemed to incense the priest to a new plateau of crazed rage. 'I'll never yield to a mutant!' the man screeched. Giving up on the gun, he threw himself physically at Alaster.

His outstretched hands clawed at the air.

Alaster's bolt pistol kicked hard in his hand. Its bark echoed in the big space. The priest's head exploded as the bolt tore into his skull. The rest of his body toppled, spasming and lifeless, to the marble floor. Brains, fragments of bone and blood sprayed over the crowd of fanatics behind. The air smelt of blood and gunsmoke.

The crowd of demented cultists exploded.

Instantly the entrance way was turned into a frothing mass of kicking, shouting, screaming, clawing, hysterical people. The Originists had erupted into a heaving mass of disorganised violence. Clubs sailed through the air, fists swung and where they were held, guns barked. Most of the swings and shots went nowhere near either of the Space Marines. In fact, the Originists were doing more damage to each other with their farcical display of indiscipline.

Alaster and Patreus moved into the throng.

Alaster's chainsword howled as he swung it, its howl dropping into a loud growl as it met flesh and bone. The teeth tore through both with equal alacrity. Originist would-be attackers wailed and staggered, clutching at the stumps of severed limbs.

Even as his chainsword bit at limbs and bodies, Alaster's bolt pistol barked at various targets. Unlike the barely-trained fanatics, Alaster's shots mostly found their targets. Originist after Originist went down clutching at unexpected wounds. Few if any of them would ever get up again.

An ineffectual small bullet bounced off Alaster's left shoulder pad, doing no more damage than a streak of paint. He felt a club impact on his right arm, but the club's head connected with his ceramite vambrace and it did no damage to him. The club, however shattered.

Alaster whirled, sweeping the chainsword low as he did so. He caught a glimpse of an enraged, dyspeptic, shouting face, the countenance of the heretic who'd just attacked him. The shout turned briefly into an O of surprise as the chainblade tore into the man's flesh.

Moments later, the Originist's top and bottom halves splashed to the ground, having been rudely divorced from each other by the blade's growl.

Alaster felt a weight behind him. It pulled him back and for a moment he staggered. Then he felt something collide, hard, with his helmet. It was enough that for a moment his ears rang. He turned but the weight stayed with him.

This time he saw the club as it flailed. It just missed his head, cracking into his right shoulder instead. Tilting his head and leaning it back, he saw what was going on. An Originst, possessed of some demented fit of bravery, had managed to haul himself up onto Alaster's backpack and was trying to attack the Space Marine from above.

'Patreus!' Alaster shouted. 'Headshot, please!'

'Gladly, Brother!' he heard Patreus say.

The heretic clinging to Alaster's backpack visibly experience a moment of panicked surprise as his dreadfully-clever scheme disintegrated. Then Patreus's bolt ripped through his head.

The corpse let go of Alaster and flopped to the ground. Unfortunately, Alaster noted he was now drenched in Originist gore. He shuddered. Being covered in Originist felt unclean somehow!

There was a momentary calm around Alaster. He quickly surveyed the surroundings. There seemed to be a lot fewer moving Originists than there had been a moment ago. Alaster caught a glimpse of Patreus's blue-black form performing some sort of odd manoeuvre on an Originist. It must be some Way of the Leaf thing, Alaster supposed.

His supposition was proved correct when a wailing Originist was sent flying through the air. The man's hair streamed behind him like a sort of crazed human comet. Then the man slammed bodily into a cluster of four more Originists. They were all sent flying ad tumbling down to the ground. They smacked into the marble and the wall behind with bone-jarring thuds. Two of them flopped lifelessly, necks broken.

One of the others reached for his club. Alaster's bolt pistol spoke and put a stop to all of that. A spray of blood re-decorated the wall immediately behind.

The remaining one appeared to be alive but unconscious. 'Leave that one!' Alaster told Patreus. 'We'll need one to interrogate!'

Patreus nodded. 'Yes Brother!'

They turned to seek new targets and then they made an unwelcome discovery.

It appeared there had been a sliver more strategy in the Originists' attack than Alaster had given them credit for. A stream of them had got past the two Space Marines, and were fleeing across the floor, toward the far side of the room. Their feet slapped and flapped on the marble floor.

'Skak!' Alaster swore. 'After them! Patreus, you go left, toward the stairs! Herd them away! I'll take up the rear!'

'Yes Brother!' Patreus sounded like he was enjoying himself.

As he ran, Alaster realised what had just happened. Mentally, he kicked himself. The Originist plan had been quite simple. Although they knew - they must have known – that fifty poorly-armed, untrained fanatics were never going to take down two fully-equipped Battle-Brothers, they could tie them up for at least a few minutes. For all his superhuman powers, a Space Marine did only have two hands, after all, and if he was in the middle of a heaving mass of attackers, that would limit the speed with which he could dispatch them all. And while the two marines had been busily bogged down in a mass of demented fanatics, another group had used that as a chance to slip past, into the main hall.

They didn't seem to be too clear where they were going yet. Alaster was catching up as he ran – he was, of course, faster than they – but they did have a good few seconds' lead-time. That was enough to put a substantial gap into the pursuit.

The arc of cultists was starting to curve toward the stairs. Alaster realised that needed putting a stop to. He fired off a shot at the front-runner. The bolt clipped the man on the shoulder. A plume of blood sprayed out and the man's arm was ripped off. The rest of him spun and collapsed to the floor.

Two more Originists tripped over the fallen comrade and were sent skittering down to the marble themselves.

The rest, seeing this, flocked away from the stairs. Alaster breathed a quick sigh of relief as he closed on them. His plan now was simple – close with them, bottle them in near the wall and finish them off. The two Space Marines had their designated survivor and weren't in need of any more. Patreus was coming in from the side, Alaster noted. Just as planned - the Originists would shortly be a solved problem, at least in this building.

Just as it looked as if the small battle was all but over, something more happened. One of the Originists found a door.

It creaked loudly, its hinges protesting as it opened. 'THROUGH HERE!' a hoarse voice shouted.

'Oh skak,' Alaster groaned. Of course – it was the door the receptionist had bolted through! In the heat of combat, Alaster had forgotten all about it.

Even as realisation set in, a tide of panicking fanatics was pouring through the door. Just as Alaster and Patreus closed the tide ebbed, the last frantic cultist escaping through the door.

'Pursuit time,' Alaster told Patreus. 'Let's just hope they don't get lost in the building!' He had a vision of chasing a dispersing mass of Originists through the big maze of corridors and offices that this building contained. It might take hours to flush them all out!

The door banged shut. There was a rattle and a click as a lock-bolt was hastily thrown on the other side.

For just a moment, silence descended over the reception area.

Alaster glared at the locked door. 'Oh no you don't, skakking heretics!' He raised his bolt pistol and shot the lock.

The shot certainly removed the lock. It also removed a lot of the door. What was left flopped backwards. Alaster reached down to his belt, tucking his bolt pistol under one arm – yes! He had one! His free hand came up gripping a grenade.

He pushed the button, then tossed it through the door.

'One,' he said. 'Two. Three.'

There was a thud and a rumble from beyond, accompanied by several ahort and abrupt screams. A puff of smoke billowed out through the door.

'NOW!' he barked.

Alaster first, than Patreus next, the two Space Marines piled through the wrecked door. Their bolt pistols barked, spraying off rounds to each side to disorient any awaiting attackers.

The room, Alaster discovered, was another large one. For an instant he blinked, puzzled by what he was seeing. A semi-circular arc of rising tiers of seats, a bit like an amphitheatre, with a stage and a lectern at the front. Behind the stage was a big gilded Imperial eagle mounted on the wall, with a pull-down display screen above it. The entire room was panelled in rich woods and the carpet under foot was of much higher grade than the ones upstairs. The seats in the amphitheatre, Alaster noticed, existed at the luxurious interface between office-chair and leather-bound home armchair.

'We're in the council chamber,' Patreus said.

Alaster realised they were. This room was where the City Council would meet for debates and votes, under more normal circumstances. That big plush seat up at the back of the stage, the one that almost looked like a throne, was presumably was for the Mayor. The others in the tiers must be for the councillors themselves.

But these were not normal circumstances. There was a big ragged hole in the carpet and the floor beneath it, the hole dug by Alaster's grenade. Several dismembered and shredded bodies were splashed around its periphery. The rest of the room was part-filled by two dozen or so would-be Originist escapees.

They were looking around with a sense of imminent panic. Alaster realised they'd miscalculated by coming in here. The door behind the two Space Marines was the only way in! The cultists had just trapped themselves in here!

'Patreus,' Alaster said, 'block off the door! I'll start sorting this lot out!'

'With pleasure,' Patreus said. Alaster's fellow Raven planted himself in the doorway, legs apart, and contrived to look entirely immovable.

Alaster turned to the Originists. He could hear feet rustling on the carpet. Realising that they were trapped, several of them had decided it was time to charge the Space Marines. It wasn't an entirely-mad plan – they didn't have any other chances of survival at this stage. A quick rush and a bolt for the door was about the only chance they had.

Alaster raised his bolt pistol. He sighted. He pulled the trigger-

And nothing happened.

Cursing, he realised the magazine was empty. There was just time to realise it needed changing before the first of the cultists piled onto him. Alaster reversed his grip and clubbed the first on-comer with the side of his pistol. It made a satisfying crack as it connected with bone. A swing and howl of the chainsword finished off the first Originist.

Once more Alaster found himself the centre of a melee. His chainsword swung and growled and bit through flesh and muscle. He could hear Patreus's pistol barking in the background. Patreus was shooting where he could, but not aiming too close to Alaster for fear of accidentally hitting him.

Alaster felt hands grabbing and punching at him from all sides. In search of some extra advantage he fought his way toward the stage. Moments later he was at the side of it. Alaster vaulted up onto it. He landed on the wooden platform with a floorboard-shaking thump. Quickly he shoved his pistol into its holster, so he could put both hands on the housing of his blade. He'd have more control that way, and more power to his thrusts.

He had just a moment to himself up there on the stage. He found he was stood next to the lectern. Then suddenly a mass of Originist fanatics came boiling onto the stage after him. Frenzied shouts and cries billowed from their lips.

Alaster was interrupted in mid-gesture as he reached for his blade with his free hand. As an Originist swung at him he frantically killed out. Astartes ceramite boot connected with human knee, with predictable results. The attacker collapse, yowling with pain and clawing at his ruined leg. But the kick unbalanced Alaster. He staggered to one side, his free hand clutching at the lectern.

He quickly regained his footing but as he pulled his hand away, something shifted under it. Instinctively he grasped it, even as his chainsword removed another Originist head.

Alaster drew his hand back and was surprised to find that he was holding a leather-bound, hardback book. Underneath a bold and shining golden Imperial eagle, silver Gothic lettering on the front of the volume declared,

_PROCEDURES FOR CIVIC ELECTIONS_

_XXVIIth EDITION_

_(Returning officer must retain at all times)_

Alaster blinked in momentary surprise. He didn't know what he'd expected to see, but that wasn't it! But then, he supposed it was a logical enough thing to be kept in the city's administrative building.

Then more Originists were on him. Acting on instinct, Alaster took a swing – and an Originist skull was cracked by its collision with 'Procedures'. The hardback, Alaster was surprised to find, survived its unorthodox use rather better than the Originist did.

One more Originist swung a club at him. Alaster's chainsword ripped right through it, spraying shards and splinters out. The top of the dissected club flew through the air, landing with a clatter some distance away. The Originist boggled for a moment at his decapitated weapon. The man's momentary distraction gave Alaster a chance to decapitate the man as well.

He heard Patreus's bolt pistol bark twice. Then, all of a sudden, silence fell over the room. Alaster whirled, looking around. He was alone on the stage, except for a heap of broken cultist corpses. The stage was battered and there were blood-streaks all over the place. The air smelt of blood, gunsmoke and the unpleasant excrement-like scent of torn bodies.

Alaster looked down to the door. Patreus was still stood there. He was surrounded by an arc of dead Originists. As Alaster looked, Patreus was calmly and methodically changing the magazine in his pistol. Alaster scanned the rest of the room he saw lots of furniture with bullet-holes, he saw lots of broken bodies and he saw lots of dropped and abandoned clubs and a few guns, but he didn't see any other living people.

'I think we're done,' he said.

Patreus nodded. With a click, the magazine slotted into place in his pistol. 'We got them all,' he said. He looked up. 'Hey, what's with the book?'

Alaster realised he was still clutching at 'Procedures'. 'This? Oh, I just crocked a couple of the skakkers with it, that's all.' The book's spine was now a bit bent and the cover was splattered with blood, but it looked like it was otherwise still intact. Alaster carefully replaced it on the lectern, which was still standing amidst the chaos.

'We'd better go and check on the survivor,' he said.

He vaulted down from the stage, landing with a thump. A few nearby loose items rattled under the force of the impact. Alaster followed Patreus from the room. As he did he set about changing the magazine on his pistol. He slotted the empty one into a space in a pouch.

They exited the council chamber. The reception beyond had been transformed into a scene of destruction. The marble floor-tiles were cracked and scattered. The walls were pocked with bolt-craters. Plaster and debris was strewn across the floor. And everywhere there were cultist corpses. The place stank of torn meat and gunfire.

Alaster saw no sign of the receptionist. He realised he hadn't in the council chamber either. Since they hadn't seen her, presumably she hadn't stayed there once the shooting started. She was probably somewhere else in the building, hiding in some convenient bolthole.

A moment later and they were beside the designated survivor. The Originist was still unconscious, but something about his breathing suggested that he was about to come round. Alaster nudged him with a boot. The man groaned.

Alaster and Patreus levelled their bolt pistols at him.

The eyelids fluttered and blearily opened. A momentary look of confusion on the man's face gave way to sheer terror as he saw the two Space Marines.

'Don't move,' Alaster said, flatly.

The Originist wet himself. A sharp stink of urine was added to the now-unpleasant aroma of the wrecked reception. He cowered against the wall behind him, all the fire and the resistance gone.

Behind them Alaster heard feet on the stairs.

'Hmm, looks like someone's been busy,' he heard Kodos's familiar and sarcastic voice.

'Sergeant!' Alaster said, twisting round. 'We've got one – a live one!'

'Whatever for?' Kodos asked. He was halfway down the stairs. Lady Sharrow and the Magos were behind him and Nasty was taking up the rear.

'Interrogation,' Alaster said. He knew Kodos was being sarcastic, but he answered anyway.

'Yes, I know that!' Kodos growled. 'Well gather it up. We need to be on our way.'

Alaster looked back at the Originist. 'You,' he said. 'On your feet. And don't do anything clever. Keep your hands where we can see them.'

The terrified Originist shakily did what he was told.

'Out,' Alaster said, gesturing to the door.

Shaking, the man complied.

Moments later, they were all outside, in the fresh air and the bright sunlight. The tinkling of the fountain was heard before them and the sounds of the city surrounded them. They moved toward the van.

'We have a destination,' Lady Sharrow said, quickly filling in Patreus and Alaster. 'Northquarter General. It's the main district hospital for that side of the city.'

'I've been there,' Nasty put in suddenly. 'Got patched up there, the first time I got myself skakked up in a fight. They were skakking crap, though. Stitches fell out after a week!'

Ignoring him, the Inquisitor said, 'There's a doctor on their rolls. Splits her time half-and-half between A&E and – guess what? – genetic medicine. And she's called Dr Leora.'

'Wow,' Patreus said. 'Bang on!'

'It will be if we catch up with her,' the Inquisitor said grimly.

They were most of the way across the square now. The fountain was behind them. Alaster could still clearly hear the tinkling of its jets.

'Will she be there?' Alaster said. 'I mean, with the power being off and everything.'

'I made a couple of calls while you were busy,' the Inquisitor said. 'I may just have put the fear of the Emperor back into the civic power company.' She sounded smug. 'The power should be back on in an hour or so.'

'She threatened to replace all the streetlamps with human candles,' Magos Kelso remarked.

They were crossing the street now, toward the van.

'No,' Lady Sharrow said, sounding pleased with herself. 'I didn't threaten. I just made clear there'd be consequences for further misbehaviour.'

'This Leora might have scarpered by now,' Alaster said.

They mounted the curb on the other side of the street, passing into the shade of the trees that lined it.

Lady Sharrow shrugged. 'The woman very probably has. But it's not really her we're after. It's her lab that we need a look at. That might give us the proof we need.'

They reached the van.

'Everybody on,' Kodos said. 'Alaster, Patreus, keep that skakker with you. We'll deal with him when we get to Northquarter.'

The Originist wet himself again and went as pale as a sheet.

The squad, the Inquisitor, the Tech-Priest and their prisoner loaded up into the van. The doors clunked shut and the engine rumbled to life.

The van drove off, on the next leg of their critical journey.


End file.
